Complex
by MasterShaper
Summary: Two worlds meant to be kept apart were brought together as one, and a life torn apart in the process. AU (UP TO GEN V.). IN PROGRESS.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

It was in a dark room, during some considerably dark times that everything came to be.

Twenty-five people were seated around a large conference table, their faces hidden in the shadows that filled the room. The only source of light was a dim projector's bulb, and even that was directed at a small portion of the wall at one end of the table. Reports and folders were scattered all over the table, but no one seemed to be perusing them; it would have been significantly difficult to do so given the darkness of the room, however.

But then again, the topic of discussion was probably even darker than the room itself. A single glance at the images being projected onto the wall would have been sufficient to prove the truth value of that statement.

_Click. _A meowth lying on the ground, its innards splayed out like a demented artist's rendition of a grotesque, organic fan.

_Click._ A charmander whose tail had been dunked into a bucket of water while it was tied to a metal stool.

_Click._ A beartic with metal tubes sticking out of its abdomen, oozing out bile from its perforated gall bladder.

_Click. Click. Click._

One by one, the people assembled in the room began to show increasingly visible signs of anger and discomfort. Fists were clenched and muttered curses were heard, as the projector flashed a seemingly unending series of pictures depicting pokemon abuse at its proverbial worst. Some of the pokemon shown in the images were clearly still alive, if their agonized facial expressions were any indication.

_Click._ A clamperl whose shell had been smashed open, and whose pearl-like body was conspicuously missing.

_Click._ A sandshrew whose body was covered in hideous welts - very obviously left by a whip that had been dipped in water prior to the lashings.

_Click._ A squirtle that only had half a face, looking suspiciously like the victim of an acid attack.

"This is sickening," growled a muscle-bound man near the far end of the table. "How many more?"

A woman seated near the projector glanced briefly at a laptop's screen, and grimaced, "Eight more."

"Sweet Arceus," mumbled a spiky-haired man who was wearing a cape of sorts. "And we've seen what... twenty of them already?"

"Better hold it in, Lance," an elderly woman said brusquely as she adjusted the shawl she was wearing. "We haven't gotten to the news reports and statistics yet."

"... and we've just gotten _here_," pointed out a bespectacled man with wavy blue hair.

The image projected on the wall changed to that of Goldenrod city's news anchor, that proceeded to clear her throat before reading the news.

_"- the paras was found lying near the National Park, with both its mushrooms torn off. Investigations are underway as to whether the mushrooms were taken to be processed into drugs-"_

Before she could finish her sentence, the video switched views to show a mangled... _thing _that might have once been a paras lying on a patch of bloodstained earth.

_Click._

_"- the robbery was committed by three masked thieves that used a machoke to smash through the bulletproof glass, followed by the suspected usage of fire pokemon on the shop's interior. Presently, the losses are estimated at a minimum of five hundred thousand dollars, while the premises were damaged beyond any possible usage in the foreseeable future. A total of fifteen rare pokemon were stolen, and the security guards are currently in the intensive care ward at Solaceon General Hospital."_

The camera panned over to a ruined shop that strongly resembled a scene out of a holocaust, showing its gutted interior.

_Click._

_"-suspected that vileplume spores were used to paralyze her before they raped her. The coroners have yet to identify the cocktail of unknown chemicals that were injected into her bloodstream-"_

_Click._

_"-mawile was used to sever his arm when he refused to divulge the information-"_

"Enough," said a veritable mountain of a man, disgust evident in his voice. "I have seen enough."

"It is not a question of how much," snapped a slender woman in a sarong. "It is a question of what we should be doing."

"And pray tell, just what can we do?" scoffed a young man whose eyes were covered with a mask. "Future Sight can only anticipate so many incidents, and those are all circumstantial at best! Then there's the question of how much we are allowed to intervene-"

"We are the Elites from our respective regions!" snorted an unshaven man with fiery orange hair. "As members of government-"

"The _training_ government!"

"Even more so! All pokemon-related matters should fall under our juris-"

"Enough of this!" shouted a woman who was practically invisible thanks to her entirely black outfit. "Phoebe and Lucian have something to say."

"And just what have those two got to share with us?" sneered an aged man in a sailor's outfit. "Unless they've found a magical way to give us power over pokemon-related crimes, I doubt it's anything of great value."

"As a matter of fact, we have," Lucian stated simply, while adjusting his glasses. Phoebe nodded with a small wince, as every pair of eyes in the room turned to fixate on the two of them.

For a while, the room was completely silent. After all, only a handful of the assembled Elites knew just what Hoenn's ghost specialist and Sinnoh's psychic specialist had discovered. Even so, most of them wondered just how much a team of ghost and psychic pokemon could possibly contribute to the matter at hand.

After some time had passed, it was Agatha who finally broke the silence, "Are you meaning to tell us that... you have foreseen something?"

"Foreseen _several _things," Phoebe replied softly. "And not all of them were good things."

"It will be a great gamble indeed," Lucian nodded, "but if we can make it work... I'm confident that the crimes will stop."

"How sure are you?" murmured Grimsley, as he squinted at the blue-haired Elite through the darkness. "I'm sure you're aware that predictions and prophecies are not exactly cut and dried?"

"It was... a series of linked futures," Phoebe said after a moment's hesitation. "My dusknoir was the one that gazed into the future, and Lucian's alakazam did the spotting. The two of them nearly lost track of the time sequence several times."

"An alakazam losing track of a time series?" asked Will, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Just how complex was the tangle?"

"Quite frankly, we couldn't even find it at first. Phoebe's dusknoir was randomly scoping for possible suspects near a crime scene, when it picked up on a cold trail. Took us several days to get a psychic lock on the trail, and it was even longer before we sighted the futures."

"So just what did your pokemon find ahead?" asked Bruno with some hints of exasperation in his voice. "Enough with the psychic theories; let's get to the point already!"

"We're getting there; can someone get the lights?"

Within moments, the lights had been switched on, revealing Lucian and Phoebe standing next to two piles of manila folders that had mysteriously appeared on the table.

"Does anyone of you recall the Odaiba incident?"

It was Drake who answered the question this time, "You mean those nuclear missiles that somehow misfired into that town?"

"I remember now," Bertha said, with a small frown. "The reports said that the missiles' programming had been completely erased save for the targeting codes... which was why they didn't detonate, wasn't it? The detonation code had been deleted, too."

"Aside from the missiles, though..." Lucian asked, "does anyone remember what happened before the nuclear scare?"

"Reports of mass hysteria and panic-induced hallucinations," murmured Lorelei, narrowing her eyes at him. "Claims that strange creatures had appeared and were duking it out smack in the middle of the neighbourhood. Tell me, Lucian; what does this all have to do with our problem?"

Lucian nodded, "Yes, there were those reports... And yes, what we're about to show you has everything to do with the Odaiba incident and a possible solution to the crime issue."

The folders were handed out, and soon enough, copies of some rather faded photographs were being examined carefully all around the table. Each picture showed a strange-looking creature, unlike any pokemon that the Elites had seen before.

Well, except for Lucian and Phoebe, in any case.

"... back then, I had managed to wipe the memories of all relevant witnesses using my team," Lucian said. "Everything that you see in those photographs has been completely erased from the minds of Odaiba's population."

"Mass memory wipes?" grunted Koga discontentedly. "Not too reliable now, are they?"

"Trust me, Koga – no one remembers the Odaiba incident beyond the malfunctioning missiles."

"So... just what does this incident have to do with our next course of action?"  
>Lucian hesitated for a moment before answering.<p>

"Let's just say that an opportunity for an alliance of sorts has come knocking on our front door, and that it has the potential to stop the crime problem dead in its tracks."

"Alliance, you say? And who would this alliance be made with?"

Lucian merely shrugged, "To be honest, we don't know yet – all we know is that they are willing to help, and are quite incapable of harming or double-crossing us."

"Incapable of double-crossing us, eh? What guarantees do you have for that?"

"Well, they don't exactly exist in this world, for one," Phoebe said simply.

Once again, the room fell into silence. When the silence was broken once again, the basic framework of a grand scheme was formed. By the end of the meeting, everyone knew what they had to do.

And that was when it all began.


	2. Contact

**Chapter 1 – Contact**

Time was mysterious and beyond human comprehension. At least, that was how the ignorant perceived it to be. Some others said that time was actually simple in its own way. But then again, such a view was also considerably ignorant, in its own way.

If one wanted to try and define time's finer points, one would be hard-pressed to find a definite answer. Indeed, such an answer probably lay beyond the understanding of mortal beings. But psychic pokemon had been considerably cooperative with humans who had in the past been curious with regards to the nature of time, and so some light was shed on the eternal flow's strange secrets.

Time, according to the psychics, was both simple _and_ complex at the same time.

It was not possible to quantify time with as crude and imprecise an instrument as a clock, they had said. Nothing was certain in time save for the fact that it was always in motion, and this principle of uncertainty applied to its progression rate, of course. In fact, one of the psychics who offered insights into time grudgingly admitted that Albert Einstein's theory of relativity probably was the closest human beings could ever come to understanding the flexible, formless nature of time.

After all, even the practically boundless power of human imagination could not possibly see all the possible outcomes of a particular event. Anticipation and prediction could only go so far, because time itself was unpredictable. Even the greatest psychic pokemon that the world had ever seen could not foresee many things, their own deaths included. Some described attempts at foreseeing their own deaths as being like viewing a watercolor painting through a glass pane with water running over its' surface.

All they could see was a blur of colors and swirling shapes, but never anything that was definite enough to constitute a prediction. Always in motion and full of surprises, the future was. Only the past was static and definite.

The conclusion of every theory on the nature of time was simple – making predictions was more of an art than a science, and more often than not, the paints insisted on messing themselves up on the canvas before they dried.

xxx

The time was sometime past two in the morning, and Lucian, Phoebe, and Cynthia were seated before a large computer monitor. Their reflections stared balefully back at them from within the huge machine's polymer screen, and the blackness of the screen seemed to swallow up all ambient light. All that clued them in to the fact that the supercomputer was in fact functional was the faint sound of humming that was constantly audible in the considerably cold room.

"Are we ready?" Cynthia asked the other two, softly. "It'll be here at any moment now."

"Reaper is restless," Phoebe murmured, as she turned to observe a shadow on the wall that seemed to be lit from within itself with a sinister red glow. "But yes, he is ready."

Lucian didn't need to say anything; his metagross materialized in the room, narrowly missing smashing open an expensive-looking console with one of its heavy claws.

"Let's begin, then."

With several keystrokes, Cynthia accessed the computer's first security level. Several more keystrokes got her into the electronic brain's higher levels, courtesy of her password. Eventually the screen, which had been filled with rows of programming code, went black. A brief pause was had, before a small pop-up box appeared.

"SECURITY CLEARANCE REQUIRED," droned the computer in its toneless, synthesized voice through several speakers installed at the corners of the room. "ENTER IDENTITY AND PASSWORD."

"Elias, Cynthia," she enunciated clearly, even as her fingers danced across the keyboard and hit several crucial keys. "Password as input."

"ACCESS GRANTED. SELECT CODE LEVEL."

"Command."

"PREPARE FOR BIOMETRIC SCANNING."

Cynthia sat up straighter in her seat, and remained completely motionless as the room was briefly illuminated by a flash of brilliant blue light.

"PROCESSING... PROCESSING... ACCESS GRANTED."

Once again, the screen was filled with programming code. However, the lines of code began to bend and distort, eventually forming a three-dimensional, grid-like shape. The code-solid rotated slowly along its vertical axis, even as miniature spikes began emerging from its sides and pulsating.

"Computer, open the porygon file."

"PORYGON FILE OPENED."

The pulsating form split into three separate shapes, which immediately reshaped themselves and began moving on their own. One resembled a cube, the second was a sphere, and the last was a vaguely flower-like shape with three petals that constantly rotated like a propeller.

"STATE REQUIRED FILE VERSION."

"Mark-2 and mark-Z."

"ACCESS TO PORYGON MARK -2 AND PORYGON MARK-Z GRANTED."

Within seconds, the screen had changed once again to show two blue-and-pink pokemon. The first resembled a duck in some aspects, whereas the second looked quite a miniature windmill, what with the way its head and limbs kept spinning about aimlessly.

"So... how shall we do this?"

"We'll need to trace the time series once again, and then link it to the porygon," Lucian said, as his metagross' eyes began to glow with a dim red glow. "From there, the porygon-2 should be able to establish a link."

"And the porygon-z?"

"The porygon-2 is going to be solely for linking us to their server. It'll be the porygon-z that facilitates the actual communications between us."

"Shall we begin?"

"One moment, Cynthia. Even a metagross needs time to track down a previously seen time series."

The large, blue-colored psychic pokemon was beginning to levitate as it drew on steadily increasing amounts of its psychic powers. Meanwhile, Phoebe's dusknoir was becoming gradually more tangible, emerging out of the shadow on the wall as its lone red eye glowed like a burning lump of coal.

Seeing into the future was never easy, and trying to see the exact same time-line multiple times was significantly more difficult. The first time Reaper the dusknoir had used Future Sight and accidentally discovered the possible future that interested his mistress so, Lucian's alakazam had been accompanying him. While the elderly ghost glanced into the flow of time, his psychic companion had seen the whole scene through his eyes – or eye, if one wanted to be specific. A dusknoir couldn't possibly have recalled everything that it saw while using Future Sight, but an alakazam with its eidetic memory could easily remember everything that passed through its densely interconnected neurons.

Using Future Sight and trying to pin down such a view was hard simply because memory was fallible. To see the same future twice, the pokemon which used Future Sight would need to follow the exact train of thought which had led it to said future, since any thought, regardless of its size, would present the seer with a whole set of possible futures.

Which was why the metagross was needed; its four linked brains offered perfect recall, and could see into even more possible futures based on the dusknoir's view if the need arose. In this case, the dusknoir was little more than the psychic's puppet once it had triggered Future Sight – the metagross controlled its thoughts and ensured that the precise sequence of memories and ideas was traced.

"Dusk..." rumbled the one-eyed ghost pokemon. "Dusknoir!"

"_He has found the time-line,"_ whispered Lucian's metagross in its grating, metallic voice. _"It is only a matter of time now."_

"How much longer?"

"_One moment. I am linking with the porygon-2 now."_

On the computer screen, the duck-like pokemon had frozen in place, its eyes pupil-less and opaque. A soft beeping was heard coming from the computer's speakers as the cyberspace pokemon processed the information which the metagross was feeding into its' artificial mind, and within seconds, the image shown on the computer screen was beginning to flicker.

"_Linking to the Amaterasu server..."_ metagross murmured with glassy eyes. _"Security clearance required."_

"Security clearance?" Phoebe asked in disbelief. "Just how are we supposed to get _that? _They're literally several light years away from us, physically!"

"We can't," Cynthia said calmly. "So we shall just have to make them aware that an unauthorized connection to their server has been established."

"Metagross, make some noise in there."

Within moments, the screen went black, and a hissing sound came from the speakers.

"_Identify your selves immediately,"_ said a raspy, emotionless voice, amidst all the hissing. _"We know that this isn't a virus, so don't bother trying to stay silent."_

Cynthia glanced at Lucian and Phoebe, drawing in a deep breath as she did so.

"This is Earth."

For a few moments, the room was silent save for the hissing sounds. Eventually, whatever that it was over at the Amaterasu server spoke once again.

"_Earth?"_

"Yes, Earth. Maybe a reference to the Odaiba incident will refresh your memory?"

"_Wha-"_ The unknown speaker began, only to be cut-off by a harsh voice not unlike the sound of glass being crushed.

"_Spokesperson of Earth,"_ said the new speaker brusquely. _"We are aware of your world's existence, and have no intentions of maintaining contact with you humans."_

"May I inquire as to why that is?"

"_While your world is rich in all manner of natural resources, we have decided that it is simply impractical to maintain contact. Other worlds within closer proximity to Data are sufficient for our needs."_

"Is that so?" Lucian asked quietly. "Or is it due to the activities of a certain group of human children?"

Once again, the other server's spokesperson fell silent.

"We are aware of your existence, and your original reasons for making your way to Earth. Trust me when I say that resources were probably near the bottom of your list."

"_If you are aware of our true intentions,"_ laughed the mysterious voice, _"what made you decide to establish this connection?"_

"Let's just say that... negotiations may be in order."

"_... Negotiations, you say?"_

"For what you originally wanted, anyway – a labor force and some resources."

"_Interesting indeed... and just what is the reason for this benevolence on your part?"_

Cynthia answered the question this time, "The greater good."

Once again, the screen's image flickered. The difference was that this time, the image of the two porygon vanished, only to be replaced by that of a squat, metal-bodied being with four legs. Two cable-like arms were folded across its rounded body, and the top half of its 'head' consisted of a transparent, cylindrical structure with various circuit boards and machinery insist it.

"_It seems,"_ the creature said, displaying several rows of corroded metal fangs as it grinned, _"that we finally have some common interests."_

"_Our_ interests place the welfare of the human race and pokemon first."

"_And _ours_ lies with the acquisition of resources."_

"There will be no allowance for ANY attempts at conquest. Is that clear?"

The cyborg-like being merely smirked at them in response, _"Transparent."_


	3. Reform

**Chapter 2 – Reform**

Among all the tricks in a psychic pokemon's arsenal, teleportation was probably that which humans understood the best. In fact, all it had taken to unravel the mysteries regarding the mechanics of teleportation had been some knowledge of physics and several cooperative psychics. Granted, the actual physics involved was definitely beyond the comprehension of the average high school student, but in the grand scheme of things, it really could be considered as being rather basic.

Simply put, teleportation involved a psychic pokemon using its powers to travel in a straight line. This was possible because well, the universe was curved. The three elementary dimensions of length, breadth, and depth formed matter. Matter, consisting of mass, generated gravity that pulled space-time into a curved shape. Numerous high school teachers had attempted to explain this four-way interaction using the analogy of a ball that had been frozen into a gelatine cube. The gelatine was moulded around the three-dimensional form of the ball, and any movements of the ball would in turn set off a ripple effect within the gelatine.

Length, breadth, depth, and time – four dimensions that made it possible for a psychic pokemon to vanish from one place and reappear almost instantly in another.

Since space-time was curved, a teleporting psychic actually moved in a straight line _through time_ from its present location to its desired destination. Those familiar with analytical geometry would have seen this as being analogous to a chord interacting with a parabolic curve, but those who were more averse to mathematics usually imagined it as the world being folded onto itself.

In short, an alakazam at Point A who needed to get to Point B merely opened a passage into time, and materialized at its destination, split-seconds after disappearing from the former location. It was almost as if the pokemon had folded a portion of space, and hopped over onto the surface which had been brought closer to it.

Despite all the theories that surrounded it, teleportation remained the most commonly-used and well known of the psychic arts. Most people couldn't be bothered in understanding just _how_ it worked – knowing that it _did_ work was enough for them.

But of course, some parties were more interested in the mechanics of being able to literally leap across space and time in a single movement. Shortly after the highly-secretive conversation between the servers of Earth and Data, numerous massive, rippling distortions started to form in the sky above several choice locations on Earth.

Mount Moon. Mount Silver. Mount Pyre. Mount Coronet. Twist Mountain.

Curious onlookers gathered by the hundreds to watch as the sky above the five continents' largest mountains lit up with crackling electricity and swirling dust clouds. Occasionally, the spiralling dust clouds would emit deep, rumbling sounds not unlike those of a muffled thunderclap. Then, the clouds would begin rotating more rapidly, and flash with a brilliant luminescence that was not of any color within the rainbow's spectrum. Very obviously, the Elites of all five pokemon leagues were consulted with regards to the strange phenomenon.

The Elites' collective silence on the matter was just as strange as the freakish thunderstorms that began lashing at the mountain-tops within days of the distortions' first appearance.

xxx

In a darkened room packed with computer consoles, countless four-legged creatures were scuttling about on every available surface. Their eyes glowed with scrolling lines of computer code, which curiously enough, corresponded to that which was flashing almost constantly on the screens mounted on the walls. The only unique being in the room was a strange one clad in blue-armor that stood close to a hologram projector, which was already projecting the likeness of an equally enigmatic being.

"When will the portals stabilize?" rasped the waist-high projection of a skeletal figure with a torn cloak draped over its shoulders. "Precious time is a-wasting here!"

"Two hours, Your Highness," hissed the armoured creature with stringy yellow hair and wide, swivelling eyes, as it paced before the hologram. "The infermon are working as fast as they can, and the humans' psychics are opening up the gateways over on Earth."

"I was also told that they shall open over mountainous regions."

"Indeed they shall," nodded the spider-like being, as it tapped several keys on a computer console with its large, scarlet claws, "and those locations were for the best, really."

"Elaborate."

"Simply put, those five locations have the highest concentrations of psychic energy on Earth. Any portals established to those destinations will be considerably stable."

"Very well, then. See to it that we can mobilize as soon as possible."

With that, the hologram faded into nothingness.

xxx

"How much longer will it take?"

"Metagross and gothitelle estimate it to be fifteen minutes," replied Lucian and Caitlin in unison from where they lay slumped in their seats. Their bodies had sagged into the sofa sets as though they had been de-boned, and their eyes were little more than white orbs – within minutes of the portals being connected, the two Elites' eyes had rolled back in their sockets, and they had collapsed like puppets whose strings had been cut. They weren't even present in the same location; Lucian was in Sinnoh while Caitlin was in Unova, and all communications were being carried out by means of a video conference.

"The hailstorm above Mount Silver is growing more intense," noted Koga, from his post in Johto. "Even the sneasel are beginning to flee from the mountain's peak, it seems."

"Likewise over here," affirmed Drake, as he adjusted his sailor's cap. "The weather atop Mount Pyre is getting so treacherous that people are wondering if Groudon and Kyogre are awakening again."

"Good," nodded Lance, as he glanced out of the large window that overlooked the road from Victory Road to Indigo Plateau. Already those vultures who called themselves journalists were gathering at the league's doorstep, and he wasn't looking forward to answering their questions.

Of course, he could always let the results speak for themselves.

"It is done," announced the two psychic Elites as one, even as the lights flickered and went out, leaving half of the league representatives in darkness.

xxx

Those who had congregated at the five mountains were scattered when the swirling dust clouds exploded with dazzling flashes of blinding white light. Some found themselves trying in vain to rid their vision of the explosions' burning afterimages, while some others cried out in alarm as columns of pulsing light lanced onto the mountain peaks from the storm centres.

Then, almost as abruptly as they had begun, the distortions vanished. The once-dark skies were rendered cloudless and blue once again, and several witnesses would later wonder if they had been hallucinating. However, a lingering scent, not unlike that of sulphur, provided them with ample conviction as to the reality of the strange incidents.

It was an ominous sign of things to come.

xxx

"- reports on the strange weather phenomena!" growled a heavyset man in a general's uniform as he slammed a meaty fist onto his desk. "God damn it, I want explanations, not speculation!"

"Sir," said a thin man in a trench coat, "speculation is the best we can do, since our psychics are reporting heavy shielding on the affected areas. It's almost as though _other _psychics were putting up mental barriers over the mountains, they say."

"What do Lucian and Caitlin have to say about this?"

"They haven't said anything at all, sir. They could not be reached."

"Impossible!" spat the general.

"It's true, sir. The Elites seemed to have severed all communications with the world outside of their respective league headquarters."

"Hmph! What about the mice?"

"All jammed. We suspect that Cynthia is using her porygons to shield their internal communications from external probing."

For a few moments, General Meiji merely glared at his subordinate, while his fingers toyed with a stress ball that lay on his desk. The military ranked higher than the pokemon leagues in the governmental hierarchies, which made the sudden communications blackout all the more puzzling. What really irked him, though, was the fact that the Elites seemed be aware of the bugs which had been planted in their headquarters, and that they were actually blocking their presumably clandestine activities from the armed forces' rather sharp eyes.

"We'll have to go in ourselves, then."

"Sir?" the trench-coated intelligence agent seemed somewhat alarmed by his commanding officer's decision.

"You heard me – we're going to get ourselves into the leagues' headquarters and finding out just what the hell is going on here."

"A mobilization, then?"

"Naturally. Get-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the door to his office was slammed open. Meiji whirled about to glare at the intruder, his face turning bright red.

"WHAT-"

"Sir, it's urgent!" gasped the junior communications officer who had barged into his office. "Multiple contacts!"

"With what, pray tell?"

"Unknown hostiles, sir!"

"Get out of my way!" The general swore as he made his way to the huge battle map that was just five feet outside of his office. His eyes widened as he saw the diodes on the transparent plastic screen lighting up; there were so many of them that the map resembled a Christmas tree. Blue represented military units, whereas red represented hostiles.

The map was practically rendered opaque by flashing diodes.

"Who authorized the mobilization?"

"No one, sir!" panted the communications officer. "The pokemon units all went berserk!"

"Call a red alert, now!"

xxx

All over the five continents, things were definitely worse than they had appeared to be on General Meiji's battle map.

Within twenty minutes of the strange occurrences atop the five peaks, every television set on Earth had switched itself off. However, they had started up again before their bewildered owners could even rise from their seats. When they had come back to life, the screens had been divided into six – they displayed the images of the five league champions and a blank box.

"Attention, people of Earth!" boomed Alder's voice from a thousand television sets. "We are the pokemon league champions, and we bring you news of great significance!"

"You'd best listen closely," Steven Stone murmured, his eyes dark, "especially since your lives might be at stake here."

"For too long, we have stood by and watched humans use and abuse pokemon for their own selfish reasons," said Lance coldly, "so now, things shall be changing around these parts."

"As we speak, you shall see that things outside your homes are stirring up somewhat," Cynthia daintily declared. "As such, our advice is that you all stay indoors, or GET indoors as soon as you can."

"A curfew has been declared!" snapped Kanto's champion, Blue. "You have five minutes to get your selves off the streets... or things might get unpleasant."

Just then, the sixth box on the television screens flickered and flashed, finally displaying the image of a robotic being with a partially-transparent head. Various mechanical devices and electrical circuits were visibly operating within its cylindrical skull, even as it smiled for the camera.

"I must say, you humans know how to get a public service announcement out."

xxx

"- get those lunatics off the air!"

"- trace on those signals!"

"- what the fuck is going on here?"

"- heavy scrambling!"

"I can't!"

General Meiji watched as his troops mobilized all over Kanto, and listened to the confused cries that were filling the airwaves. No one seemed to have any idea what was going on, and things were not looking good. As it was, he was receiving news of chaos on the streets of Kanto, and the Elites' five-minute countdown was already halfway through.

Of course, it didn't help that a significant number of the armed forces had been killed by their own pokemon.

"Get those tanks-" he began, only to be cut-off as the room's lights flickered and died. "Now what?"

"It is time for you to take your leave of us, my dear general," came a chillingly familiar voice from somewhere in the darkness. "Your services are no longer required."

"Agatha? What is the meaning of this?"

"Merely that the times, they are a changing," she cackled, as a sickening crunch was heard. Within seconds, agonized screams and shouts filled the darkened room, only to be replaced by an ominous silence almost as soon as they had started.

By the time the lights had come back on, Agatha was no longer in the room – all that remained was a pile of dead bodies. Most had died with their necks snapped, but for some, their bodies had been quite literally ripped apart.

xxx

All over Earth, clocks counted down to the moment when the Elites had threatened to enforce a curfew. Just how they planned to do so, no one knew, but most who questioned it agreed that their potential methods were presumably unpleasant. And of course, only a handful of people were actually thinking straight enough to arrive at such a conclusion.

When the clocks completed the countdown, every street on Earth was illuminated by brilliant flashes of light. The flashes soon faded to reveal numerous pokemon standing in orderly rows, their expressions curiously blank. Within seconds, several more flashes burst forth, this time revealing an approximately equal number of strange creatures that no one had seen before.

"_A curfew is in effect!"_ thundered a powerful telepathic voice. _"Return to your homes immediately! All who resist shall not be spared!"_

With that, the assembled pokemon – and their apparent allies – began marching down the streets. Pedestrians, human and pokemon alike, began fleeing in all directions as the massive group of creatures advanced towards them. People began running into random buildings out of desperation, and soon enough, doors were being slammed shut in people's faces.

"_A curfew is in effect! A curfew is in effect! All who disobey shall not be spared!"_

An old man, wheezing and gasping for air, tripped up on one of Jubilife's badly-chipped sidewalks as he struggled to make it to his home. He fell to the ground in a graceless heap, feeling a burning pain flare up in his hip as he collapsed. Before he could even try to recover from the jolting impact, he saw that a houndoom had caught up with him. The wolf-like pokemon seemed to be dazed, but he saw murder in its yellow eyes.

"No..." he wheezed, while he feebly attempted to crawl away from it. "Please-"

His pleading turned into agonized screams as the dark canine tore into him without a second thought. Blood splattered all over the ground, even as the other pokemon made their way past the grisly scene. Within seconds, nothing was left of the man except for a bloody pile of meat and shredded clothes.

Soon enough, the night was filled with the nightmarish screams of those unfortunate souls who never did make it home on time. No one who was on the streets was spared – the groups of alien creatures and pokemon saw to that. Several trainers tried to battle their way out of being caught, but all that happened in the end was the slaughtering of several more pokemon and humans.

The curfew was in effect.

xxx

Within an hour of the curfew being enforced, the Elites had already begun another round of video conferencing. The difference from their previous conferences was the participation of several other beings in the proceedings – creatures that had made their way to Earth via the five mountain-top portals.

"Operation Lockdown has been executed with satisfactory results," reported Lorelei, as she gestured towards eight humans that had been frozen into large blocks of ice. "The military has been dealt with."

"Likewise for Johto."

"And Hoenn."

"Same here at Unova."

"Sinnoh is clear."

"Shall we begin the negotiations?" said a slender woman in a red outfit. It was only due to the fact that she had compound eyes that a person could not have been forgiven if they mistook her for a human being. "All possible threats to our plans have been secured, so I think the time has come for us to parley."

"Indeed," nodded Lance. "By all means, let us hear your proposed terms."

The red-clad creature snapped her fingers, and her escort hurried over with a portable hologram generator. He was decked out in a navy blue trench coat and a face mask that concealed his entire body save for a single yellow eye, and when he spoke, his voice sounded like wood being filed down.

"It is ready, sir."

It only took two seconds for the generator to come to life, and when it did, the same creature whose visage had been broadcast on the television was represented as a hologram.

"Greetings."

"And to you too, Datamon."

"_Grand Admiral_ Datamon!" snapped the towering creature that had set the generator up.

"At ease, Mummymon. Now, humans, let's not beat around the bush any longer – we're here to discuss slaves and minerals, so shall we commence?"

Cynthia picked up a remote and activated a projector of her own, "The items listed there are what we have to offer... for starters."

Datamon's hologram observed the figures being projected onto the wall without saying anything. For a while, there was silence among all members of the assembly. When the cyborg digimon smiled, it was clear that a deal was on the cards.

"I do believe we can come to an agreement on those terms."


	4. Sweep

**Chapter 3 – Sweep**

"How many casualties did we sustain during the curfew?"

"Of the forty gym leaders, thirty-four were killed when the curfew was enforced. The remaining six have pledged their support to our cause."

"Who are they?"

"Byron, Roark, Pryce, Blaine, Skyla, and Drayden. All of the Hoenn leaders are dead."

"Byron, eh? He actually took out the force we sent to Canalave, it seems."

"He did?"

"Yup – that fossil team of his cleaned the streets with the pokemon and digimon sent there."

"... Blaine incinerated them."

"Excuse me! We seem to be getting off-track here... what's important is that we effectively have six senior gym leaders on our side."

"And five are of the old guard, too – definitely not pushovers."

"Think we should involve them in our plans?"

"Why not, pray tell?"

xxx

Lilycove City was probably one of Hoenn's busiest cities aside from Slateport. If one stopped to think about it, though, the only real reason why Lilycove had such a huge amount of traffic passing through it was the sheer number of pokemon coordination contests that took place in the city's large contest hall. Indeed, the visitor demographic was probably skewed grossly in the contests' favour when compared to the other attractions Lilycove featured, such as wailmer watching and Lilycove museum.

However, an event that took place there just three days after the Elites' coup managed to command more attention from the good people of Lilycove than anything else in the city's history. For the first time since the coup itself, not a soul was to be found indoors anywhere in the city, except for maybe the hospital. And they were all outdoors without worrying about what consequences they might have had to suffer from under the newly-enforced laws.

Well, admittedly the reason why they weren't afraid of the Elites' laws on the matter was because they had been _ordered_ to assemble at the contest hall.

The contest hall was huge – it had been designed and built to accommodate over a thousand people, after all. However, Lilycove's sizable population of three million people made it impossible for everyone to fit into the hall, and so the city's streets were all jam-packed within a hundred-meter radius of the contest hall. Several police officers were in sight, but they did little to control the crowds. Instead, they lingered about at the street corners, looking oddly dazed – it was almost as if someone had hypnotized them and sent them out onto the streets while they were still mesmerized.

What the early birds of Lilycove noticed upon entering the contest hall was that someone was already waiting for them on-stage, alongside a police officer. The later ones, who were forced to fight for standing room on the streets, noticed the same thing by means of several projections onto the sides of several buildings.

The person on the stage was a familiar face to all who were present – after all, Glacia was none other than one of Hoenn's Elites. Severel tough-looking ice pokemon were flanking her, and she herself didn't seem to be in the mood for fun and games. After some time, the police officer standing by her side received a call on his walkie-talkie. He proceeded to whisper something into her ear, which caused her to perk up slightly.

Glacia stepped forward with a microphone that she fished out of somewhere within the folds of her billowing dress, and cleared her throat.

"Citizens of Hoenn," she called, her tone about as warm as the glalie hovering next to her. "Times have changed, as I'm sure you're aware of by now. So we'll be implementing some changes... _permanent_ changes."

"When we first enforced the curfew three nights ago, we encountered some resistance among the more stubborn trainers out there. While we regret any unnecessary losses of life... know that we shall NOT be hesitant in taking any steps that we deem necessary to safeguard the greater good."

"Just what greater good are we talking about here?" came an angry shout from somewhere in the crowd. "What's good for you Elites might not be good for us!"

Cries and shouts of agreements were heard, and soon enough, the hall had become filled with a huge racket. Glacia, who didn't seem to be bothered in the least by the terrific noise, merely nodded towards her abomasnow. Within seconds, the frosted-tree pokemon had created a minor snowstorm in the hall, effectively shutting up the crowd.

"As I was saying, we shall not be pulling any punches here. For too long, we have stood by and watched quietly while many of you did things to both humans and pokemon - disgusting, abominable things. In the interests of safe, secure, and _civilized_ society, we hereby declare the governments of Earth to be dissolved."

A colossal uproar broke out in the hall and on the streets almost immediately after she had finished speaking. Even the abomasnow's mini-snowstorm failed to keep the crowd from getting more agitated, and soon enough, several members of the audience began attempting to get on-stage.

Glacia merely sighed upon seeing the chaos that was unfolding in the hall, "As expected. Abomasnow, glalie, walrein - freeze them over!"

The three powerful ice types instantly obeyed her orders, sending volleys of freezing-cold attacks towards the audience. Blizzards and Ice Beams froze entire groups of humans into blocks of ice, and the crowd out on the streets got into a panicked frenzy of its own.

Despite the pandemonium that had erupted on the streets of Lilycove – her team had seen to it that the contest hall itself was free of any problems – Glacia was quite literally as cool as a cucumber.

After all, her task had been to break the news to Hoenn that there would be a change in the governments; somehow, no one had specified if she was to be tactful in doing so.

xxx

"- you lot! I'd string you up and beat the crap out of you, but apparently I'm not allowed to do that. So be thankful that all I've done so far is paralyzing you."

Byron glared at the group of prone forms on the floor beneath him. He was standing at an elevated platform that overlooked a prison exercise yard, and several of his best pokemon were at his side. When the prisoners had first found out that he was to be their new warden for the time being, some had decided that he was a pushover of sorts. A brief soaking from his empoleon followed by a Thunder Wave from his magnezone had rapidly dispelled any such thoughts, though.

Leaning on his signature shovel, Byron continued to address the group of immobile prisoners.

"Pryce will be coming around soon to pick you lot up. He'll probably be freezing you all into popsicles for the journey over to Data-"

"Byron! Where's the scumbag collection?"

"Speak of the devil... Pryce, they're out here, Pryce!"

The elderly ice specialist made his way out onto the platform, and surveyed the handiwork of his colleague's pokemon.

"Nice one, Byron. But did you really have to zap them? Some of them must've shat themselves."

"Bah, they were getting rowdy! Nothing like a decent Thunder Wave to shut dissidents up... works just like it did back in the olden days."

"I sometimes forget that you were the one who passed that zapping fetish to Surge, you know."

"Whatever... do you want them like this or not?"

"Not like I have a choice now, do I? The transport leaves in three hours."

"That fast? We'd best get to moving them, then."

There were three flashes of light as both of the gym leaders let out their pokemon onto the platform. Byron had released his bronzong and metagross, whereas Pryce had let out a jynx whose hair was slightly frizzled. Within seconds, the entire group of prisoners had vanished along with the three pokemon, leaving the two men behind.

"Remind me again what they'll be doing over at Data?"

"Hard labour, apparently. Mining, construction, manufacturing, stuff like that. But mostly jobs that even the digimon find too tedious under normal circumstances."

"Anything particularly dangerous?"

"I've heard that the mines have a seventy percent casualty statistic."

"Good! The faster we dispose of those scumbags, the better."

xxx

Cinnabar Island's population had been relatively unharmed by the pokemon and digimon that had marched through its short, winding streets on the night of the coup. Most of its citizens, long accustomed to the eccentricities of the local gym leader, Blaine, had obediently trooped indoors when the Elites' declaration of a curfew had been broadcasted. Some of them had been understandably unnerved by the nature of the announcement, but otherwise most of them had made it indoors after seeing Blaine take to the skies on his charizard.

Blaine himself had been only slightly disturbed by the announcement. Upon seeing for himself the groups of pokemon and digimon that had teleported onto the shores of the island he called his home, he had brought together his strongest team of fire pokemon, and had lifted off.

Needless to say, things had not been pretty for the creatures sent by the Elites to enforce their curfew. The old gym leader had not forgotten any of his tricks, and entire groups of digimon had been incinerated by a very angry-looking magmortar, just as their pokemon allies got trapped within a ring of fire that a tough, battle-scarred typhlosion had created around them. Within thirty minutes of the curfew being declared, Blaine had managed to subdue every living thing on Cinnabar Island.

When he eventually found out just why the Elites had decided to start their revolution, he was only somewhat surprised. After all, the government conspiracy theories had been circulating for years since the Odaiba incident – Lucian really should have known better than to assume that he had been successful in wiping out all traces of the massive brawl between the two digimon. Conspiracies aside, though, he personally regarded the revolution as a necessary evil.

Indeed, most trainers who were from the older class viewed the toppling of the governments as something that had been long overdue. While they might have disapproved of the Elites' methods, they mostly agreed that the world had once been a much better place to live in for both humans and pokemon – much of its present condition was attributed to the governments' lack of initiative and commitment towards eradicating crime, or so they said.

Of course, it didn't help that there were numerous high-profile crimes whose files were never closed. Corruption, abuse of power, criminal breach of trust... the list just went on and on and merely grew longer over time.

All of the aforementioned factors made Blaine numb to the shock of having a curfew declared all over the world, but not what Datamon was asking of him a mere four days after the curfew's bloody execution. The very fact that Datamon had actually taken the time to visit his laboratory on Cinnabar was intriguing enough, but what the digimon had asked him was even more puzzling.

"Say again?"

"What do you know about the Gunslinger project?"

Blaine raised an eyebrow as he regarded the mechanical digimon with a guarded expression, "Nothing much. In fact, you probably know more about it than I do."

"That's the problem – I don't know much about it," replied Datamon, as he paced in front of Blaine's desk. "It's highly under wraps – if not for what Phoebe accidentally let slip, I would be ignorant about its very existence. As the former head of such research and development, I thought maybe you would be able to shed some light on the matter."

"What makes you think that I'll divulge such information to you, even if I did know it?"

"Just because," Datamon grinned, "you happen to be one of the few who actually _supports_ our cause."

"Only in the name of what is best for Earth."

"Does that even extend to the basic description of the Gunslinger?"

"It exists, and that is all I can say on the matter."

"Very well then – I shall take my leave of you."

However, right before Datamon exited the gym leader's office, he turned to face the bald man once again.

"I'm assuming that the Elites have silenced you on the matter, and I'll respect their wishes while they remain in power. But if they were to somehow grant you freedom of speech, would you be willing to reveal the information?"

"Depending on why they'd allow such a thing to begin with."

"I see. Goodbye for now, Blaine."

xxx

Lucian watched as the digimon's massive cargo cruiser slowly made its way out of Earth's gravitational field, gradually moving past the atmospheres' furthest reaches. As time went by and its distance from Earth increased, it became smaller, and was eventually rendered invisible against the night sky. Only he and Caitlin were still at the Elites' headquarters, and they themselves would soon be heading to their respective living quarters for some shut-eye.

Within the spacecraft were various ores and minerals that the digimon had received in exchange for their assistance in toppling the various governments all over Earth – something which the digimon had been quite happy to work on. Apparently, the ores which they had requested for were considered as rarities back on their own world, despite the substances in question being relatively common on Earth.

There had been quite a few snickers when the digimon's request for aluminium had been noted, and quite a few more were heard when they asked for graphite. But at the end of the day, the Elites had managed to come up with enough of the materials to honour part of their agreement with the digimon, and so all was well.

The other part of the deal was also honoured, in the form of fifteen thousand prisoners that were being shipped out to Data as labourers. All of them had been placed into cryogenic stasis for the three-week journey that quite literally spanned the length of the galaxy, and when they woke up... suffice to say that they definitely wouldn't be too happy with their new home.

When he heard a brief knocking on the door to his officer, Lucian turned around to regard the door with some curiosity. He wasn't expecting anyone to drop by at that time of the day, and most of the other Elites had probably retired to their quarters already.

"Who is it?"

"Mummymon," replied the person on other side of the heavy wooden door. "We have some business to discuss."

Discretely getting out the pokeballs containing his alakazam and gallade – one could never be too cautious – Lucian called out to the cadaverous digimon, "Come in, then."

His suspicions were confirmed when Mummymon walked in, followed by two digimon resembling stars with hands and legs.

"And just what is this... business you speak of?" His thumb brushed the pokeballs' release buttons, releasing the two psychics. "I highly doubt it's anything pacifistic, given that you've got those two with you."

Mummymon laughed darkly, his lone eye gleaming with a sinister yellow light, "Correct, my dear psychic. Starmon, get them!"

Even before his pokemon could make their first moves, the lights went out, leaving the room in darkness as the melee commenced. There came the sounds of his gallade dishing out several vicious blows, and for a brief moment, the room was lit-up with a brilliant flash of light as one of the starmon attacked his alakazam with several glowing orbs. Deciding to let out more of his pokemon, Lucian tossed their pokeballs into the air, only to receive a glancing blow to the back of his head as Mummymon lunged at him.

All he saw before everything went black was his gallade's head rolling on the ground in front of him.

xxx

As soon as her mind had detected the spike of alarm from Lucian's office, Caitlin had released her reuniclus and sigilyph from their pokeballs. When a certain humanoid creature had appeared in her office, she had immediately released the rest of her team.

"I should have known that you would resort to treachery!"

"You knew what we were capable of," laughed Arukenimon, as her two monochromon flunkies stepped forward. "Yet you made an alliance with us. Alas, you Elites have outlived your usefulness for now... so we'll just have to dispose of you."

"Begone!" shrieked Caitlin, as her team charged towards the red-dressed digimon.

The two monochromon bellowed furiously and charged towards her in retaliation. When her musharna tried to shove them aside using its psychic powers, it found that they might as well have been umbreon – nothing worked on them as far as psychic attacks were concerned.

"_Stop!"_ commanded Caitlin's reuniclus, as it fired a Focus Blast at one of the monochromon. _"This is madness!"_

The words had just left its mind when one of the two dinosaur-like digimon sank its fangs into Caitlin's sigilyph. Blood spurted out of the dead psychic's mangled body as the digimon let out a roar that rattled the windowpanes, and Caitlin herself rushed forward to try and attack it.

"NO!"

"_Mistress, no!"_ cried her gothitelle, sending her flying backwards with a mental push. While it managed to save her from being mauled by the blood-splattered monochromon, it failed to save itself – the digimon bit into its shoulder with enough force to rip its arm off.

Arukenimon herself had not been idle – she had run right up to where the second monochromon was grappling with the reuniclus, and had driven a knife into the psychic's gelatinous body. Within seconds, the blob-like pokemon had quite literally liquefied and expired, leaving Caitlin with just her musharna to defend her.

"So now," purred the digimon as she reverted to her spider-like form, "let's end this little parody, shall we?"

Caitlin's screams echoed in the night, even as multiple skirmishes broke out in the individual league members' quarters.

xxx

On the rooftop of the league headquarters, four humans stood alongside Datamon, ignoring the sounds of the numerous battles that were taking place beneath their feet.

"I'm surprised that you four sided with us, you know. Some would say that you've sold out your own species."

"It's not a question of human supremacy," Shauntal said brusquely. "Anyone who deals with ghosts would know that being ruled by others is not always submission."

"It is... of no consequence to me," Blaine shrugged. "Everything is relative, after all."

"We should learn from the insects, you know," Aaron murmured, as a durant scuttled onto his shoulder. "Organized society is so simplistic, really."

"You do realize that after tonight, there'll be no more leagues and whatnot. We're not interested in your petty games."

"No big deal," scoffed Lorelei. "Most of us stayed in our positions to try and fix things... but you know how that turned out."

"Let's make it official, then," Datamon said, snapping his metal fingers. A lanky cyborg digimon with a prominent head materialized on the rooftop, hovering several feet above the ground. "Vademon! Get us a link to His Majesty."

"Immediately, sir."

Within two minutes, a holographic representation of a skeletal digimon with frayed robes was being projected out of Vademon's mechanical half. The figure in the hologram was the same one which Diaboromon had been communicating with when he was working on establishing the portal connections between Data and Earth, and this time, he looked somewhat pleased at the sight before his eyes.

"Well, well, well. I take it things are going smoothly, Datamon?"

"Indeed, my lord. We even have cooperative humans – powerful trainers, at that."

"Good, good... and what of the other Elites?"

"We got them while they were apart – united they posed a problem, but separate was another issue."

"Hmph. What of these four? They sold out their species, what's to stop them from betraying us in the future?"

"Our loyalties lie with the human race," Blaine deadpanned. "As long as the well-being of humans and pokemon is being protected, you will be assured of our cooperation."

"It does not bother you, this butchery?" the digimon emperor asked, his red eyes glinting with malice. "Your allies were all murdered, and you stood by just like that."

"It was in the name of the greater good," said Shauntal firmly. "And we... have had our opportunities to get glimpses of the future. What's best for humanity lies along this path, somehow."

"How sure are you of this?" asked Datamon, sounding quite amused. "Prophecies are never set in stone."

Shauntal offered him a ghost of a smile, "Trust me, Datamon – my ghosts and I have seen more than you could ever imagine."

"I do believe we have come to an agreement, here."

"Excellent!" laughed the emperor's hologram. "Datamon, you may do the honors!"

The four-legged cyborg grinned, and spoke.

"By the power vested in me by His Royal Highness, Emperor Apocallymon, I declare this planet – Earth – to be a world under the auspices of the Digimon Empire."

With that simple declaration, the conquest of Earth was formalized.


	5. Start

**Chapter 4 – Start**

_Eight years after Earth's assimilation into the Digimon Empire._

"Your attention please – the next station is Canalave City. End of the line. All passengers are to disembark."

It was none other than that very announcement which woke me up from my half-hearted sleep. Looking back, I recall that when I woke up the train was over what seemed like a perfectly calm expanse of water. The horizon appeared to vanish beneath a curtain of fog with Mount Coronet's southern peaks rising out of it, and so the mountains looked as if they were floating in mid-air as opposed to being one with the ground.

"Canalave City," declared the train's computerized PA system. "All passengers are to disembark and register with the customs officials for inspection. Any goods to be declared are to be brought to the designated areas."

With that, the train stopped. We had arrived at Canalave City – end of the Pan-Sinnoh train line.

As I got out of the train, slinging my small backpack over my shoulders, I noticed that the train terminal itself was not on land, but had been built above the waters of Route 218. From what I knew about it, Canalave never really had much land to its name, and so most of its recent developments had been done over the waters that surrounded it. It still retained the canal which it was named after, but otherwise, most people were quite aware that when you strolled about on the streets of Canalave, more often than not you were actually walking on a floating portion of the city.

For a moment, I tried to see if I could still make out the outlines of Jubilife in the distance. Alas, all I could see was a faint, rugged outline that suggested the presence of land on the other end of the route.

I quickly suppressed the tell-tale signs that homesickness was welling up inside me, and turned my back on the city I once called home.

xxx

"- everything is in order, then," declared the elderly customs official as he stamped the papers which granted me access to Canalave. "Is it your first visit to Canalave, young man?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Heh, gathered as much from your papers. Which division did they assign you to?"

"Port control, sir!"

"At ease, soldier," laughed the official. "Well, you're a brave young man, making your way in a world that requires bravery for survival. I wish you all the best."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now fly away, young man – there's a line forming here."

As I walked away from the customs counter, I swallowed hard, ignoring the manner in which my stomach seemed to be tying all sorts of complicated knots. The old officer had mentioned that I was now in a world that required bravery for survival, and I now found myself wondering if I really had what it took to make it here.

I guess it was time to see if Canalave would make or break my military career.

xxx

The people who claimed that Canalave was a small city had clearly been mistaken. To be specific, I thought that they had been mistaken when they said that it didn't have much land to call its own.

Anyone stepping out of the train terminal would probably have noticed that the ground in Canalave seemed to be divided into two distinct types – tarmac and cobblestone. Tarmac was what the terminal was located on, whereas cobblestone roads were visible in the distance, where 'new' Canalave ended and the 'old' Canalave began.

Those cobblestone paths seemed to stretch on as far as the eye could see, like grey snakes whose bodies had no end. Up ahead in the distance, I saw what looked like the deck of a cargo ship at the end of the main street which extended directly from the canal to the train terminal.

I hadn't even been in Canalave for an hour, and already I'd run into my first problem – where the heck was port control? By the looks of it, the city was huge, and so finding port control wouldn't be a straightforward task. For those of you who assumed that it would be by the canal, well... the canal ran through the whole city. Asking for directions seemed to be my only option, so I did. It was a decision that I ended up regretting in the extreme. Why, you might ask?

Let's just say that in Canalave, even old ladies drive like maniacs. And on hindsight, I probably shouldn't have trusted an old lady that drove a military-grade jeep.

xxx

"MY HOLY-"

"Language, young man!" chided the old lady who'd offered me a lift to port control. "We're just round the corner- AHA!"

With that, she floored the brakes, bringing the car to a jolting stop. Something behind us fell to the floor with a crash, sounding very much like the industrial-size toolbox I had seen in the back of the jeep. We had stopped in front of a rather modern-looking building with a facade made entirely out of glass, through which various people, digimon, and pokemon could be seen busily moving about.

"Here we are!" She chirped happily. "I do hope you know where to go?"

"Umm, no I don't, ma'am. I'll ask around."

"You'd better! Otherwise, those security goons would get you and do all sorts of unpleasant crap to you!"

"... I'll keep that in mind. Thank you for the... ride."

"Ah, it's not problem, sonny! If you ever need a ride, ask them for Aunty Moira – they'll know how to contact me!"

I had just managed to step out of the jeep and close the door before she took off down the street, parting the traffic as easily as a knife through hot butter. Honking and cursing abounded as she made her way to wherever it was she needed to go, and I was astonished to see her actually flipping another driver off as she rounded a corner and vanished from my sight.

Canalave was going to be a rather... interesting place to be, apparently.

xxx

Port control was the headquarters for Canalave's port authorities and also Sinnoh's naval department. Since Canalave was pretty much the only major port which Sinnoh had, the navy was also based there, though the actual military vessels docked off-shore. According to the instructors who handled basic military training, this allowed the naval vessels to double as a screen of sorts that controlled port security. So even troops that were off-rotation could contribute to keeping our largest port safe, it seemed.

That being said and done, I now found myself trying to read through the large list of departments and offices that was displayed above the reception desk at port control. No one was presently behind the desk, which was puzzling, but I wasn't too fussed – that's what signs were for.

If only the sign was not so _big_...

"Can I help you?"

I jumped, and whirled about to see a rather petite woman sitting behind the desk. She had somehow materialized there, and was regarding me with an expression that seemed divided between curiosity and amusement.

"Umm, yes ma'am. I was told to report here today – naval department."

"Navy's on the third floor, but which office specifically? They've got the whole floor to themselves."

"I have no idea. My orders were just to report here, ma'am."

"Why, aren't you a cute one," she giggled, as she held out a hand to me. "Let's see your orders."

After several seconds of rummaging in my pockets, I found the papers that contained the details of my posting, and handed them to her. She quietly scrutinized them for a bit, before murmuring something to herself and looking back up at me.

"Looks like you're General Harding's new assistant – he's the head of the water pokemon department."

"Ah, I see... Where on the third floor is his office?"

"It's lunchtime, dear. I'll take you there," she said with a laugh. "Follow me!"

She sprang up from her seat, and made her way to the elevators so fast that I almost lost her in the crowds that were constantly moving about the floor. I inwardly let out a relieved sigh as I realized that the crowds wouldn't always be _this_ bad – it probably was the lunch rush, as she had implied.

"Quickly!" She called, as the elevator began protesting against her holding its doors open.

"I'm coming!"

In the – surprisingly empty – elevator, she briefly explained where I needed to go.

"General Harding's office is at the other end of the floor, overlooking the sea. Since he's got the corner office, he also has a view of the train terminal, though."

"Wow..."

"He's a nice guy, though – you're very lucky to be assigned to work with him! We've got five generals working here, and two of them are _horrible_ souls!" She said, lowering her voice for that last bit. "I'd stay clear of the ground and electric heads if I were you... Ah, we're here!"

The elevator doors opened onto a long corridor with numerous doors along both of its walls. As we walked past them, I saw that all the doors were only labelled with the names of the people who presumably worked in there, and not the actual department names.

"Why aren't the department names on the doors?"

"Security purposes – not everyone knows who works in what department. We usually rely on several trained pokemon and digimon to relay memos to the offices."

"Like psychics or something?"

"Well, yes. But we only have three abra and two demidevimon, so we sometimes use a couple of spinarak as well – they're wonderful for delivering small notes."

We approached a junction in the corridor, and she pointed towards the left turning.

"Generals' offices are that way, and the naval science department is to the right. Remember this, since we don't have ANY signage in here."

Once we had taken the left turn, we wound up taking several more. Right, left, straight, and right again. It was almost dizzying, trying to keep up with the twisting and turning corridors.

"General Harding's office is the third door on the right-"

Out of the blue, a muffled exclamation sounding suspiciously like, "MOTHER OF FUCK!" echoed throughout the corridor we were in.

"... Take the second door on the right, then."

"That's his office?"

"No, it's General Fen's office. I'd knock before entering, if I were you."

"But wasn't I supposed to meet with General Harding?"

"He usually eats his lunch out on the field, but sometimes he stays in here. And usually, he spends his lunch hour with his two best buddies, General Fen and General Maine."

A muffled, "EAT MY SHIT, COCKSUCKER!" was heard from somewhere within the vicinity of the office in concern.

"Knock before you enter – it's polite, and you wouldn't want to get flashed."

"Umm, _flashed?_"

"Good luck!" She smirked, before spinning on her heel and dashing out of my sight.

I stood there for a while, not knowing just what to make of her warning of sorts.

"FUCK THE POLICE!"

... Yes, the vulgarities were definitely coming from the second door on the right.

Walking up to the door bearing the label of 'General Fen Siow Loong', I swallowed hard and knocked thrice. Through the door, I could hear some strange noises coming from within the office, though they almost immediately after I had knocked.

"You heard that?" Someone inside the office had heard me, it seemed.

"Yup... WHO IS IT?"

"Umm, I'm General Harding's new assistant?"

Before I could even blink, the door had been yanked open from the inside, and I found myself staring at a man wearing nothing save for a pair of black shorts. A pair of mischievous blue eyes looked at me from beneath of thick mop of black hair, and his smirk was almost carnivorous. He stood slightly taller than me, and had a lanky frame that suggested he spent many hours swimming laps.

Something bugged me about his appearance – I got the impression that I had somehow seen him before somewhere. But I dismissed the thought with a mental shrug, given that military personnel rarely appeared in the media. I must have confused him with someone else.

"Yes?"

"Umm, General Harding?" I asked, trying hard not to stare and blush. They might have had _that_ on file already, but still!

"You're speaking to him, kid. So you're my new assistant?"

"I think so?"

"Great!" He beamed. "Come on in, then!"

Turning around and waking into the office, he called out to his companions, "Fen? Better get your pants on! We've got company!"

As I entered the office, I saw that a partition had been set up that divided the office into two. On our side of the partition was a television set which, surprisingly enough, had an antique PlayStation console hooked up to it. A gigantic man in a military uniform was standing in front of the television, and was staring at it intently.

"Good afternoon-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" thundered the mountain of a man as he grappled with the video game's controller, sending the character on-screen directly into the path of a speeding car. "NO!"

"HAH!" crowed General Harding, as he clapped his hands in delight. "You lost, Gary! Off with them!"

"The tyke distracted me!"

"Ah, excuses! Off with them, or drinks are on you this Friday!"

"FUCK you, Zachary!"

"AHEM," said someone from behind the partition. "We do have a guest here, guys."

"If he's to be my assistant, he'll get used to it. Why are you still there, Fen?"

"It isn't polite for a general to show a private his privates, Zachary," was the flat response.

"Whatever."

"Umm, sir?"

"Yes?"

"Requesting permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted..."

"Why are you stripping in General Fen's office?"

"We do this every time we get to have lunch together! Eat and play video games, that is."

"And the loser has to strip," came the voice from the other side once again. "Zachary, _where are my pants?_"

"You mean these?" General Harding snickered, nudging a pile of clothes on the floor with his foot, and shoving it under the television's stand.

"... you are so dead, Harding."

xxx

Five minutes later, once he had given up on trying to get his clothes back from General Fen – who was holding them hostage in revenge for the hiding of _his_ clothes – General Harding flippantly strolled out into the corridor, wearing nothing but his shorts.

"Come on, kid – we'll get you sorted out, since that spoilsport Fen insists on me going topless today."

"Won't you get in trouble for that, sir?"

"Nah... Most of the people in this building have seen me like this several times already. Some have even seen me in the buff, so I'm not fussed. Now where did I put that key?"

"Isn't it against the rules or something, sir?"

"Rules, you say? Not that I'm bothered about them... Ah, there it is!"

He opened the door, and stepped into his office.

It was probably the nicest office I had ever seen up till then.

Large windows gave a direct view of the ocean, and also the train terminal, as the receptionist had mentioned earlier. Bookshelves lined the walls, and were so packed that the planks were beginning to sag under the weight of the books. His desk was placed against a wall perpendicular to those with the windows, and was piled high with papers and files.

"Let's see... my new assistant..." he muttered, rooting through the paper mountain. Grabbing a rather thin file, he threw himself into the chair behind the desk. "Ah, this is it! Take a seat, kid."

Awkwardly, I seated myself on the other side of his desk. Held my breath and watched as he flipped the file open, and began reading the first page. I only managed to exhale when he somehow skipped over the next page, which contained my personal information – I still didn't know how he would take the news if he knew.

"So... You came from Jubilife, and did your basic training at the base of Mount Coronet... High scores in the classroom and also outside... Eh? It says here that you're a horrible marksman?"

"Yes, sir," I nodded – I could never shoot straight with a firearm. "I barely managed to pass basic arms training."

"No problem... we can work on that. Though you're apparently decent in hand-to-hand combat, which somewhat makes up for that... Hmm, you were tested for water affinity after an incident with a goldeen?"

"It was the camp commandant's, sir. I... accidentally fell into its tank, and it tried to gore me. But I told it not to, and it didn't."

"Hmm, impressive – I'll check it out myself, later. But are you aware of just why you were sent here?"

"No, sir."

"An affinity for water pokemon," he said, as he leaned back in his seat and stretched his back, "is one of the rarer affinities out there. To my knowledge, only the steel and poison affinities are about the same in terms of rarity. So when they pick up someone with water affinity, they usually send them to me."

"Okay."

"Now, it says here that your affinity with water is dominant. If that's true, you're an even rarer specimen than the usual affinities I get to see passing through here. So far, I haven't encountered anyone besides myself with a dominant water affinity – all of them had either grass or ground as their dominant affinities."

"Wouldn't that have been workable, sir?"

"It might have... but I prefer to have dominant water in my assistant. Given the nature of our work here, there's little use for grass or ground."

"I see."

"So! Let's get you paired up with a pokemon, then!"

He leapt out of his chair, very nearly knocking it over as he did so. Grabbing a faded T-shirt which had been draped over the back of the chair, he scooped up my file and headed for the door.

"Umm, sir?"

"Eh?"

"Aren't you going to get into your uniform first?"

"Two things, kid; firstly, balls with the uniform, and secondly, stop calling me sir!"

"Yes, sir."

"... This is going to take some time, I see."

xxx

If there is one thing that I have to say about General Zachary Harding, it's that he moves fast. And when I say fast, what I actually mean is that he practically turns into a blur when he gets moving.

"Sorry!" I called out, as I dashed past a machop whose armload of papers had been thrown into the air as General Harding barrelled past it.

"Machop!" Sighed the fighting-type, as it bent over to pick up the mess, shaking its head all the while.

"Hurry up, kid!" For the second time in my first day at port control, the elevator was wailing shrilly thanks to its doors being forced open. "The fucking lift's in a rush!"

Once I had jumped into the elevator – barely making it past the closing doors – he turned to regard me with a wide smile.

"You'll have to learn to move fast if you're going to keep up with me, kid!"

It was then that I realized why his face had seemed so familiar.

"You're Zachary Harding!"

"Glad you noticed," he said, raising an eyebrow. "What was your first clue?"

I drew in a deep breath, and exhaled, "Hoenn League, 2082. You were the youngest contender in a decade to challenge the Hoenn League. You lost only to Champion Steven, and never did beat him despite multiple attempts."

"Whoa!" He exclaimed, eyes wide. "Have you been stalking me or something? That's some seriously old shit you've gone and dug up."

"I saw you on TV! I mean, back before the revolution and all..."

"Bah, I knew I shouldn't have done those interviews," he muttered with a roll of his eyes. "If there's one thing I learned, kid, it's that television cameras always manage to make you look awkward and clueless."

"Wait a minute... You were fourteen when you challenged the league. That would make you... just shy of twenty-four?"

"Shhh! You'll scare the ladies away!" He said, shushing me with an expression of mock horror. "But you sure did your stalking legwork, I must say."

"It's not stalking," I replied, just as the elevator reached one of the basement levels and opened its doors.

"The stalker debate will have to wait – we're here! Now let's see if Babamon is in, and we'll get you your starter."

We walked out of the elevator, and stepped into a massive corridor made entirely out of riveted steel plates. Large blast doors were present along both walls, and were placed about a hundred meters apart from one another. As we came closer to the first door, I saw that a symbol resembling a leaf had been spray-painted onto it with black paint. The next door had a lightning bolt marking, and the third had a marking that resembled a water droplet.

"Here we are – the water pokemon vault... Babamon! BABAMON!"

"What the hell are you hoodlums yelling about?"

I jumped upon hearing the snappish remark come from behind me, but General Harding merely smirked and turned to face the person who had spoken.

"Fresh meat today, Babamon – water dominant!"

The creature that had spoken turned out to be a short, squat digimon resembling an old woman whose face was obscured by its shawl. It seemed to have some smoke trailing out of its face, but then I realized that the digimon was actually smoking a cigarette, upon seeing the packet of Marlboros it was clutching in one of its wrinkled hands.

How it managed to do so without setting its shawl on fire was beyond me.

"Water dominant, you say? That would make you a very happy man, methinks."

"True, true, and true!" He sang, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he gestured to the blast door impatiently. "So hurry up and open the vault already! The faster he gets his starter, the better!"

"And why would that be so?"

"Just do it, you old hag!"

"Hmph!" Huffed the digimon, as she slowly shuffled forward and attempted to put out her cigarette on his leg. "Lost your trousers again?"

"Does it matter?"

"Kids these days," she muttered, even as the door slid upwards without even the slightest of sounds. "Maybe someday I ought to bend you over and give you a good spanking to teach you some manners."

"Do that, Babamon, and you'll have a very horny kid to deal with."

"... I give up."

Once the blast door had opened all the way, my jaw practically hit the ground as I saw what was inside the room. A large pool occupied most of the floor, and it was surrounded on three sides by shelves upon shelves of pokeballs. The room was illuminated by harsh strobe lights that were hung overhead by massive girders, and I could hear a faint humming sound as soon as I stepped into the room.

"Water dominant..." Babamon mused, lighting a fresh cigarette. "It's been a while since I matched one up, so let me think... Squirtle, goldeen, horsea, totodile, and finneon."

"Let's try the goldeen – he's had experience with one."

"Really? That should make our job easier, then."

"Brace yourself, kid!"

"Huh, what?" was all I managed to say before he shoved me into the pool.

xxx

Forty minutes later, I had nearly been gored by a goldeen, been bitten by a hyperactive totodile, had ink spat in my face by a horsea, and gotten head-butted by the squirtle. While at first they found it amusing, both Babamon and General Harding were getting perplexed over trying to determine the species of pokemon that I would be most compatible with.

"Something isn't right, Zachary. He's water dominant, and hasn't returned any favourable results with the usual water dominant species."

"Magikarp or feebas, maybe?"

"Possible, but those would give a positive result with every Tom, Dick, and Harry, anyways. I'm thinking partial-typings."

"His file said he had a minor affinity for ice... maybe spheal?"

"You had a minor water affinity, ice dominant, no?"

"Before Tammy, yes."

"She had a fondness for this shellder I had – let's see how it goes with that one."

For the sixth time that day, a pokemon was let into the pool with me. However, this time, the pokemon involved was a shellder as Babamon had mentioned, and as such it wasn't inclined to moving much.

After about five minutes of me treading water and staring at the pokemon floating in front of me with its shell held firmly shut, Babamon got impatient and splashed water at me.

"Go up to it and talk to it, you nitwit!"

"Its shell is closed!"

"Trust me, it can hear you! Now move your bloody arse!"

Sighing, I swam up to the shellder, and spoke to it.

"... Hi." No response from the shellder. "Are you awake?"

Ever so slowly, the two halves of its shell eased open, revealing a black mass of flesh within the creature's armoured exterior. Two large eyes regarded me with a curious look, as it opened its shell a little wider. A long, pink tongue darted in and out of its shell, as if it was trying to taste the air.

I guessed that a little friendliness wouldn't go amiss, "Hello, there."

And that was when the shellder propelled itself forward and clamped onto my nose.


	6. Shell

**Chapter 5 – Shell**

"... You should be happy, you know – most shellder usually clamp down hard enough to actually _break_ a nose."

"I dib no dat, but danks."

"Hmm, does it feel broken? We could swing by the medical bay, if you need to," he said worriedly, offering me some tissue paper.

"Do, I don dink dho."

"Still! You're coming with me, buster!"

"Va?"

"You've got the shellder as your starter, which is good, but we've got forms to fill in! And of course, those assholes down at records would just love blood-splattered paperwork, so yeah... to the medical bay we go!" He began pushing me towards the right turn in the corridor – the one which I had been told led to the naval science department.

"... yed dir."

xxx

General Harding had warned me that Dr. Esther was scary, and that she tended to be rather vacant. Once I had seen her, however, I decided that no warnings, however detailed, could have possibly prepared _anyone_ for seeing her without getting a minor fright at the very least. Fortunately or unfortunately, she didn't immediately attend to me – instead, she handed him a bunch of cotton balls with a kidney dish, and told him to get me cleaned up first.

"So... how did your nose get broken?"

"A shellder clamped it, doc."

"Ah, I see... the hazards of pokemon training... It's only a minor break, so I'll just need you to keep some ice on it... Maybe some decongestants would also be needed? Yes, yes, those would be good, too..."

All the while, her back had been turned to me as she scribbled down notes on a clipboard, her purple hair hanging down past her shoulders in a messy rendition of a ponytail. When she turned about to get a look at me, I involuntarily reeled backwards out of shock.

Her skin was flaking and peeling, as though she was suffering from some seriously bad eczema. Then, her eyes, which were yellowish at the edges, were bloodshot and watering, constantly flicking about as though she was in a high state of nervousness. Her mouth was hidden behind her surgical mask, and I was half-thankful that I didn't have to see what _that_ part of her facial anatomy looked like.

"... Is this your first visit?"

"Yes, ma'am," surprisingly enough, I sounded quite normal once I had blown out the dried blood from my nose. "I just arrived today, in fact."

"First day here and already you're in my clutches? What an unlucky soul you are..."

"If you say so, ma'am."

"Get the shellder out, please..."

"What?" That order got General Harding's attention. "Why would you need the shellder?"

"... I'm hoping that I can scare it into not pinching him again. Heaven knows I've got enough work to do as things are..."

"Let it out, then," he said, turning to face me. "Maybe she _will_ scare it, somehow."

"... One moment," she muttered, as she rummaged around in a cabinet next to her table. "... Piriton, vicodin, acyclovir... Ah, here it is... lorazekinase. Let the shellder out, boy."

Nervously, I let the shellder out of its pokeball. It materialized on the floor with its shell tightly shut, and remained motionless even though it had been released.

"Now what, doc?"

"Lorazekinase..." She murmured, bending over and spraying something onto the pokemon's hard shell. For a few seconds, nothing happened, but soon enough, it began to twitch, and suddenly opened up its shell all the way. The black mass of flesh that was the shellder's true body was also twitching, and its two wide eyes were glancing about fearfully in all directions.

"Whoa! Never seen anything do that with a shellder before – just what was that?"

"Simple drug that permeates most solids... I use it to treat General Fen, since his steel affinity makes his skin less permeable to drugs. It basically makes membranes permeable to other substances... So when I mixed some with this agent here," she said, gesturing to a smaller bottle, "it triggered a muscle spasm... Open sesame, shellder..."

She turned to squint at the shellder, which was looking visibly unnerved by her appearance and proximity.

"... Listen here, you spineless mollusc – I've got enough things to worry about here without people coming in with injured noses thanks to you... You stay clear of injuring your trainer, you hear?"

It merely flicked its tongue at her in response, though its eyes betrayed the fact that her words were probably sinking in.

"Good... Otherwise, I'll open you up again and let General Kylie's team have a go at you..."

With that being said and done, she turned to face me again. For some reason, I got the impression that she was smirking behind that surgical mask of hers.

"... And now, I think we should get your physical done."

"What?"

"You're here, so we'll get two birds killed with one stone... Yes, indeed we shall... Get into the cubicle there and strip, please..."

"Have fun, kid," General Harding said, with some sympathy in his voice. "See you later back at my office, eh?"

xxx

As it turned out, the physical didn't take longer than an hour. Dr. Esther, despite her creepy appearance, turned out to actually be amazingly proficient with the tools of her trade. At first, she surprised me by taking my pulse and checking my eyes out with a flashlight at the same time, followed by a several other groups of tests that were carried out simultaneously. She finally let me go with a report saying that I had no health problems on the date of my physical examination, and that I was due back in another three months for another physical.

When I got back to General Harding's office, he was already occupied with a veritable mountain of paperwork. He barely looked up as I knocked and entered, cursing under his breath as he thumped his fist on the form he was filling out.

"Fuck you!"

"... Yes, sir?"

"I made a spelling error, GAH! Now I'll need to get another one of these forms," he muttered, glaring at the form. "And I had extra copies of ALL the forms, _except_ for that one!"

"Do you need help with that?"

"Well... let's see... Hmm," he murmured, as he took in the sight of the paperwork swamping his desktop. "You could get me another copy of the BZ-272 form, for starters. Then I'll show you how it's done, alright?"

"Do I get it from the records department?"

"Yup – just go to records and tell them to give you a BZ-272 form. Heck, ask for a stack of them if they're feeling generous."

xxx

The records department turned out to be the entire fourth floor. There were no offices, since the whole department seemed to consist of a cubicle labyrinth with numerous filing cabinets lining the walls, and so finding the forms General Harding had asked for shaped up into quite the task indeed.

Fortunately, there were still kind souls in the world. Or at least, there was a kind soul in the records department.

"Can I help you?"

I looked up from the messily sketched floor plan tacked to the side of one of the cubicles, and saw a mousy-looking woman with huge spectacles looking at me curiously.

"Umm, yes. Could you tell me where the BZ-272 forms are?"

"BZ-272... wait, are you from General Harding's office?"

All I could do was blink, "How did you know that?"

"His paperwork is always late, and he always screws up with that particular form," she said with a disdainful sniff. "I'll give you the forms, but make sure he gets them right this time – we don't print an infinite number of them, you know."

"I'll be sure to notify him of that."

xxx

When I got back to his office, the good general had actually finished most of the paperwork, and was busy doing push-ups on the floor.

"Took you long enough," he said good-naturedly. "I guess they held you up?"

"They told me to pass you a message, sir."

"Ah, I see. Must be telling me to keep my paperwork on time, and to not screw up the forms, yes?" He sniffed, not missing a beat in his exercise. "Well, fuck them! Most of the paperwork is pointless, anyway."

"I guess... Here are the forms – they gave you three copies."

"More than enough... So!" He grunted, jumping to his feet. "Let's get this pissing show on the road now, shall we?"

xxx

After that afternoon I spent in his office, I definitely learned two things – namely, that General Harding was horrible with paperwork and that paperwork was pure evil. We had spent no less than four hours finishing the rest of the paperwork, and managed to get it to the records department just as one last unfortunate clerk there was about to leave. Of course, he grumbled about being held up, but we didn't leave him much choice in the matter, really.

Admittedly, General Harding grabbing him by the collar and hauling him out of the elevator as he tried to flee might have been a little extreme, but hey – we got our work done!

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," General Harding said, as he zipped up his hoodie. "Just where are you staying, anyway?"

"The hostel, I think. I'm supposed to sign-in there by midnight today."

"Oh, you're staying at the hostel? I could get you a ride there if you want?"

"You could do that?"

"Well, there's this old military engineer named Moira Hew-"

"Aunty Moira!"

"Ah, you've met her! Lovely lady, she is – always willing to give people a ride home."

"... Doesn't her driving scare you, sir?"

"Kid, you're talking to a man who had his license taken from him for charges of reckless driving, drunk driving, and carrying out obscene acts while driving, all at the same time. I'm not about to criticize _her_ driving!"

"I'm surprised she still has her license, though."

"Well... she's got this old lady thing going for her. There's that, and the fact that she once beat a gang of cops in a pub brawl," he said with a smirk.

"She did _what?_"

"Don't let the old lady act fool you, kid – she's got muscles where it counts. So do I give her a call or not?"

"Umm, thanks but no thanks, sir. I think I'd prefer making my own way there."

"Alrighty, then! Know how to get there?"

"No, sir – I was actually going to ask you for directions once we were done," I replied, sending him into a laughing fit.

"I'll just take you there, then! It's on the way to my place, anyways!"

"Really, sir?"

"Sure! The military hostel is two blocks away from the apartment I'm sharing with General Fen, so it's no big deal, really."

zxx

General Harding hadn't been lying when he claimed that his place was just two blocks away from mine – we passed it on the way to the hostel. It looked like a decent enough place to stay in, and he told me that the only reason he'd moved out of the hostel was because he was constantly being harassed by some female soldier from the accounting department. Apparently, she had sent him several marriage proposals – as well as other sorts of proposals – and so he had turned tail and fled when he got the chance to do so.

"One thing to always keep in mind, kid – women are SCARY creatures. Never underestimate one, because she'll rip your balls clean off the first chance she gets."

"I'm sure they aren't all that bad, sir."

"Watch and learn, kid. Watch and learn... And here we are!"

"This is it?"

"Yup, Canalave's military hostel. Lovely accommodation, though if you room on the third floor, I'd be careful in the showers – the water sometimes gets cut-off halfway through your bath."

"Thank you, sir!"

"No problem, kid... Now if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment."

"You have an appointment at this time of the day, sir?"

"What, you expected me to not have a life?" He retorted, even as he walked round the corner and left my sight.

I was just about to enter the hostel's compound when I heard him calling to me from behind, "Oi, kid!"

"Sir?"

"Stop calling me that!"

"Yes, sir!"

"God damn it!" He cursed, throwing his hands up in the air.

"What was it you wanted to say, sir?"

"_Just stop calling me sir!_"

xxx

When I got there at half past seven, port control was as silent as a graveyard. The petite receptionist I had met yesterday was sitting behind her desk and sipping from a large ceramic of something that let out wisps of steam, and several people in rumpled clothing were engaged in a hushed conversation by the elevators.

"Good morning to you, ma'am."

"Ah, it's Zachary's newbie again! I do hope he didn't traumatize you too badly?" She brightened up, nearly upsetting the mug in the process.

"He didn't ma'am. Should I go up to his office now, or should I wait for him here?"

"Just go on up to his office. Most days he beats me to port control, but ends up sleeping until eight thirty in his office."

"He does that?"

"Uh-huh. Some days when he didn't get any sleep the night before, he even locks himself in and snoozes till about noon."

"... Is that allowed in the military?" I was bewildered – just what did they let him get away with, anyway?

"Technically, no..." she sighed. "But Zachary's one of the best in the field, and he also handles some... other duties. So the top brass turn a blind eye to his misbehaviour as long as he gives them what they want, I guess."

"Wow."

"Now scoot! I'm going to enjoy what's left of my coffee in peace before the crowds get here."

As I walked towards the elevators, I approached the group of ruffled-looking people that I had seen earlier. They were still having their little discussion, and as I passed them, a snatch of their conversation made it to my ears.

"- broke into the television station last night!"

"Kingsley isn't going to be happy about this," muttered one of them as she rubbed her eyes. "As it is, there's enough reports of strange activities in all regions..."

Even before I could process the information which I had just (accidentally) received, the elevator arrived at our floor. The sound of its doors opening startled them somewhat, causing them to look around with squinty eyes for a moment, before they went back to their talking. I managed to catch one last piece of their exchange before the doors closed, though.

"They suspect it's the terrorists."

xxx

What I found in General Harding's office told me that the receptionist was possibly a psychic. True to her word, he was leaning back in a deckchair next to his desk, sleeping soundly with his shirt draped over his body like a blanket. His hair was all mussed up, as though he had gotten into a scuffle the night before and hadn't found the time to comb it before he came to the office.

I looked at the clock hung above the door. Seven fifty. Going by what the receptionist had said, that probably meant that I had another thirty minutes or so before he woke up and started whatever work we had for the day.

Since I had nothing better to do at the moment, I decided to check out the massive collection of books that he had in his office. To my surprise, most of them turned out to be novels instead of the technical books that I had been expecting. And what made me a little more amazed was the fact that most of said books were considerably old stories.

'Animal Farm'. 'Nineteen Eighty-Four'. 'To Kill A Mockingbird'. 'Kim'. A huge leather-bound volume labelled as 'The Grimm Brothers', which had a spine that was held together by duct tape. Several other books whose titles I didn't recognize, such as 'A Clockwork Orange' and 'The Long Walk'.

The sound of the door opening drew my attention away from the books, and I turned towards the door to see just who the visitor to his office was. Imagine my surprise when I saw that nothing other than a slowbro had opened the door, and that it was holding two mugs of black fluid in its paws. Just how it opened the door with both of its paws occupied was beyond me – the best guess I could make was that it had used its psychic abilities or something like that.

It slowly cocked its head to one side, fixating its vacant stare on me.

"_Why, hello there._"

I almost turned to see who had spoken, when I realized that it had been the pokemon using its psychic powers, "Umm, hello."

"_You must be Zachary's new assistant, I take it?_" The pink pokemon walked up to his desk and placed both mugs of coffee down on it, even as the shellder on her tail's end gave me a dirty look. "_My name is Adrienne – nice to meet you._"

"Nice to meet you, too. I take it you're one of General Harding's pokemon?"

"_Indeed I am_," she nodded, as she picked up one of the mugs and chugged down its contents. "_Ah, that hits the spot..._"

"A slowbro can take _coffee?_"

"_Why wouldn't I be able to take coffee?_"

"Will you two just shut it already and let a man get his sleep?" There was a groan from General Harding's direction. We both turned to face him, seeing him slowly rubbing at his eyes with his palms. "Jeez, it's like sleeping here is illegal or something..."

"_Just shut up and drink your coffee_."

"I love you too, Adrienne."

"_If you would actually SLEEP at night instead of going off gallivanting, you wouldn't be like this._"

"Yes, _mother._"

"_Sometimes I wonder why I even bother,_" Adrienne sighed, scratching the side of her head. "_And you were supposed to teach your assistant a thing or two about training his shellder, too._"

"I can do it, Adrienne!" He protested, jumping out of the deckchair. "Just you see – we'll have him sweeping Kylie's team in no time!"

"_I highly doubt that._"

"Whatever. Return!"

xxx

For the second time in two days, I found myself chasing after General Harding as he made a mad dash through the corridors. They were mercifully empty since most of the working crowd hadn't arrived yet, but he still managed to send several people scurrying frantically out of his way. If his crazy running had been bad under normal conditions, the coffee he drank earlier seemed to make it worse.

"Hurry up, kid! We need to beat Don and Elena to the training area!" He seemed agitated at the very thought of those two people getting there before us, and was practically vibrating by the time I jumped into the elevator.

"Who are they?"

"A couple of people who spend too much time in training, that's who! And who also leave questionable smells in the training area!"

"... I don't know what to say about that, sir."

"You tell me – everyone in the building suspects that the two of them have christened the entire bloody training area," he said with a shudder. "I'm not saying anything more about them, thank you very much!"

All I could do was to stare blankly at him once I had made it to the elevator. Between my hyperactive superior officers, a mad old woman who drove a jeep and now people who screwed each other in public places, port control was turning out to be a little more interesting than I had originally expected.

xxx

As it turned out, we actually did manage to beat the mysterious Don and Elena to the training area. The training area itself turned out to be a large, gymnasium-like room on one of the basement levels, and had no windows. Fortunately, it didn't stink that badly, thanks to several large exhaust fans and vents that were very audibly at work.

"So, we need to train your shellder. But of course, the training school at Coronet wouldn't have prepared you much for this, so I'll have to bring you up to speed, alright?"

"Alright, sir."

"Hmph. So, shellder is a water type, obviously. Name the attack types which water has an advantage against," he said, even as he began doing some basic stretches.

"Fire, ice, steel, water," I counted them off on my hand. "Yup, four of them."

"Correct. Now the types that ice is weak against?"

"Fire, steel, rock, fighting."

"So you see shellder's two types cancel each other out for fire and steel... which means you need to be careful when up against those types. Fighting types would be a constant headache for you, though."

"Who's the one who hates fighting types?" A calm voice asked from the training area's doorway.

"Good morning, Don," General Harding called out. "Where's the psycho bitch?"

"Sleeping in for once – last night was hectic."

"You two need rehab for sex addiction, I swear!"

"Hey, look who's talking! I recall an incident-"

"We shall not discuss that now, thank you very much. I have a newbie to teach, so if you'll pardon me?" He hurriedly said, cutting the other man off before some undoubtedly scandalous information could be leaked out.

"Oh, _he's_ the newbie? Hey there, kid."

I turned to look at the man who had just stepped into the training room. He was a tall, slender man, with a lean, muscled build. His movements were graceful and almost cat-like, to the extent whereby he didn't make a sound as he walked up to us. Bright green eyes clashed with his sleepy facial expression, giving me the impression that he would be a nasty opponent to reckon with in a fight.

"The name's Donald Hackett," he said with s faint smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise, sir," I replied, shaking his hand.

"Don here is the head of combat instruction. His bitch of a girlfriend is in charge of the fighting types," General Harding said, with a smile that seemed just a tad forced.

"So what's the newbie here for?"

"A shellder, of all species. A shellder!"

"Shellder?" That seemed to pique his interest. "Partial ice, partial water... Interesting indeed..."

"Umm, sirs?"

"Yes?"

"What's so interesting about shellder?"

"Nothing much, really. It's just that you'll someday need to make a trip over to Snowpoint to get it checked out," Don shrugged, the slight motion causing his muscles to visibly flex.

"For real?" I asked, eyebrows raised – travel to Snowpoint was severely restricted.

"We need an expert on the type to clear its compatibility with you. But since you're water dominant, anyway, it doesn't really matter that much in this case."

"Water _dominant?_ You must have slept with Lady Luck the night before he came over, Zachary."

"Shut up, Don. Alright, kid! Let's see what your shellder can do!"

xxx

My shellder apparently was quite shy, since it absolutely refused to open up its shell and respond to instructions. After nearly getting my fingers snipped off (apparently, Dr. Esther's warnings didn't leave much of an impression), I decided to take it aside for an attempt at making conversation instead of training.

"You sure about that, kid?"

"I'm sure it just needs time, sir," I nodded. "Maybe it's timid or something, so I'll take it out of here for while."

"If you think that'll work... Here, take Adrienne with you – she can help translate."

And that was how I wound up talking to a shellder in the corridor outside the training area, while Adrienne watched me with some barely-concealed amusement.

"So... how are things in there?"

"_It isn't responding, hmm,_" she said, scratching her head. "_Maybe you'll need to scare it a little._"

"Scare it?"

"_Be creative!_"

"Umm," I looked at the bivalve pokemon's tightly shut shell. "Look, if you don't open up, I'll have to use force on you."

It stuck its tongue out and blew a raspberry at me. Finally, progress!

"Alright, now can we talk? I've got a psychic here who can help to translate whatever you say."

After about five minutes of it sitting there with its tongue out, I had had enough.

"Adrienne, you sure it didn't say anything?"

"_Positive._"

"Alright, time for some drastic action, then. Do you know where the mess hall is?"

"_Sure, but why..._" Her voice trailed-off as she caught on to my plan. "_You can't be serious._"

"We'll see about that – lead the way, my good lady!"

My shellder let out a panicked squeak as I returned it, vanishing into its pokeball with a flash of red light.

xxx

"So, my dear shellder... will you talk now?"

It let out an angry squeak and tried to splash water at me, but to no avail. When I had first initiated my plan for making it talk, I had decided to bind its shell shut with some cord, first. So its movements were severely limited, and of course, the container I had put it into was barely big enough to accommodate it, anyway.

"_I'm sure this qualifies as some form of pokemon abuse!_" Adrienne said, translating whatever the shellder said. "_Help, help, MURDER!_"

"Oh, it's saying that now? Listen here, shellder. I know you're shy and all that, but can you at least work with me here?"

"_I'm not saying anything until you release me from this torture!_"

"_Torture?_ Please... I haven't even turned on the gas yet," I said, tapping the stovetop with a finger. "Unless you want me to, of course."

"_And you expect me to cooperate with you?_"

"Well, yeah." I tapped the stovetop again. "Do you really want to see if I'll try to make you into clam chowder?"

"_Try. It._"

"If you say so," I shrugged. With a flick of my wrist, I switched on the stove, lighting some small flames beneath the large soup pot that my shellder was presently bound and submerged in. It began thrashing about, very nearly tipping the pot over – I had to hold it down to prevent water from spilling out onto the stove.

"_THIS IS MADNESS!_"

"Madness of your own invitation... when you're ready to talk, I'm here."

"_FINE._"

The shellder stubbornly remained silent after that, with Adrienne peeping into the pot occasionally with a worried expression.

"_Are you sure it won't get hurt?_"

"That depends on it, I guess..."

"Oi! I'll need my pot back soon," called one of the mess hall's cooks. "You'd better have it washed up within ten minutes!"

"Okay!" I cranked up the gas. "Looks like your time got cut a little shorter, sweetheart."

"_YOU'RE NUTS!_"

"Hmm, maybe some peanuts would go well with clam chowder?"

"Ah, there you are!" General Harding had somehow managed to track us down, it seemed. "Where's the shellder?"

I didn't have to answer, though, once his eyes fell on the soup pot.

"No kidding," he deadpanned, with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, sir."

"You do realize it could die in there?"

"Not yet," I stuck a finger into the water. "Still warm, hasn't boiled yet..."

"You're crazy..." He said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I've done some pretty crazy shit to make shellder talk, but this takes the cake... Whatever you do, just don't kill it, alright?"

"_I yield!_" cried Adrienne, as the shellder made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a shriek. "_I'll talk, I'll talk! Let me out of here!_"

"It worked, eh? Good job, kid."

"Thank you, sir."

I switched the stove off, and fished the shellder out. Untying the knots in the cord that bound it, I placed it on the stainless steel countertop.

"So, shellder. Anything to say for yourself?"

I leapt aside as it sprang forward, shell open in preparation for clamping onto some part of my anatomy. Grabbing it from behind, I hefted it up and held it face-down over the pot.

"Do we really have to do this again?" I sighed. Just as I thought I had made some headway...

"... _You win._"


	7. Issues

**Chapter 6 – Issues**

Apparently, my shellder could be very cooperative indeed if it was in the mood. Or maybe it was a consequence of nearly getting boiled alive, but I wasn't too fussed about the technical details.

After the brief incident at the kitchen – the cooks were still unhappy that I had tried to make clam chowder using a shellder of all things in their domain – General Harding and I hauled the grouchy shellder back to the training area, while Adrienne slowly followed us to make sure that we didn't get up to any mischief along the way.

For a slowbro, she sure seemed aware of her master's hyperactivity.

Anyways, the results of the training session were definitely impressive. Well, calling it training might have been stretching the term's meaning, since all we actually did was present the shellder with targets for it to attack. By doing that, we managed to see just what attacks it was capable of using, and the power which it could pack into its moves.

For an untrained pokemon such as my shellder, knowing more than one move was supposedly considered to be impressive. So when it actually managed to demonstrate a Surf attack _and_ an Aurora Beam, the two of us were more than just a little surprised. General Harding claimed that he shouldn't have been that shocked, since it had been under Babamon's care for about six months already, and so it most probably had picked up some moves from any of the other water pokemon in the vault.

A shellder that probably hated me, and which knew a little more than it had been expected to know... maybe I should have been apprehensive over such circumstances, but I decided to happily ignore all that.

After all, I was sure that in due time, the two of us would get along great. Hopefully, that is.

xxx

Eight p.m. found General Harding and myself at a greasy spoon located at about a five minute walking distance from his apartment. To celebrate the shellder's progress, he had decided to take us out to dinner after port control had closed for the day, and he claimed that the dingy diner he had chosen was actually a haven for good food. From what I could taste, his faith had not been misplaced – the fried noodles were actually quite delicious.

"So, you're a very lucky guy, you know? Few people get a starter that knows one move well, let alone two," he said, as he began digging into his food.

"Like you said, it probably picked up the Surf from something else in the vault... I'll need to work on talking to it, though," I glanced at the shellder, which was still refusing to look me in the eye since the incident at the mess hall.

"Ah, given enough time, you'll understand it."

The shellder opened up its shell to redirect its gaze from the dish of raw, minced fish that had been placed before it, and blew a raspberry in my direction.

"_Him,_ then," he laughed with his mouth full of rice.

"You could understand that?"

"Kid, I've been going at the training game for at twelve years now. Of course I'd understand basic pokemon speech! And the water affinity helps, too," he shrugged. "Most of us who've been training for at least five years get the knack of interpreting pokemon speech, anyway."

"What about those who aren't matched to their pokemon's type?" I asked, my curiosity piqued – not much was known about the affinities, since the government was predictably tight-lipped about them.

"Well, there are translators sold in most major electronics stores – headphones for the trainer or collars for the pokemon. But since the banning of competitive pokemon battling, they've pretty much fallen out of popularity," he answered, vacantly twirling his spoon about as he considered the question. "Of course, most of the trainers who kept their teams after the revolution probably understand them by now, so there you have it."

"Hmm... so I'll either have to wait or fork out cash to get what he's saying?" I frowned – five years was a long time, especially in my case.

"The military does have the means and resources to give you cochlear implants that translate pokemon speech, but I only know of two people who got them before. Rumor has it that the chips make your hearing a little more sensitive, since the chips are designed to also pick up frequencies beyond the usual human hearing range."

I looked at my shellder, which was slurping up the minced fish with great relish. He stopped, as though he was aware that I was watching him, and began eyeballing me back out of the corner of his eyes. Stubborn thing...

"You might want to eat instead of just having a staring match here, you know. The food doesn't get better when it's cold, mind you," General Harding chided me, while brandishing his spoon like a pistol. "And who knows just where this place's reputation will go after that!"

I shook my head, snapping out of my daze, "Sorry, but I guess today was a little... dramatic for my taste."

"Says the guy who tried to _boil_ his starter pokemon. Shit, I don't think anyone's threatened a shellder with being turned into soup before..."

"Hey, I needed to make him talk somehow! And besides, I wouldn't have allowed him to get boiled alive."

"That's what they all say," sang General Harding, as he stirred more chilli sauce into his fried rice. "But you get points for creativity, kid. Keep up the good work, without threatening pokemon next time, alright?"

"Yes, sir," I shrugged, shoving some noodles into my mouth. Hmm, they did taste good, though they were considerably spicy.

The three of us ate in silence for a while, until General Harding looked up from his food with an expression suggesting that he'd just realized something.

"What are you going to call him?"

"Eh?"

"You can't be calling it 'shellder' all the time now, can you? That would be so boring!" The little bivalve pokemon made a soft trilling sound, causing General Harding to nod. "Yup, even he agrees – a name would be good."

"Hmm... Shelly?"

If the shellder's eyes had been lasers, I probably would have been disintegrated in my seat.

"Oh, for the love of... You tried to cook him, and now you want to give him the lamest possible name for one of his species? Try harder, kid!"

I looked back at him – the shellder, not General Harding – and tried to think of a name for the stubborn little thing. He looked me in the eye, with an expression that suggested his supreme dissatisfaction over my lack of originality in naming him.

"You're the silent type, so I guess I could do something with that... Jake?" I squinted at the shellder, but it seemed indifferent to the suggestion.

"Interesting... where did that come from?"

"A book series I used to read back when I was in high school – Jake was this quiet guy in the story."

A dull, disinterested sound that amazingly resembled a fart came from the shellder.

"... You probably don't want the translation of that one."

"Indeed. Silent, silent, silent..." I mulled over the thought as I chewed my food. "Maybe something to do with being silent."

"Danny?"

This time, the shellder actually spewed some water in his face. He raised an eyebrow, even as he pulled up his shirt and began mopping his face dry – I was definitely _not_ checking out his abs then, thank you very much.

"He says that if the two of us can't decide on a name for him, he'd rather be called 'shellder' for the rest of his life. Or yours, depending on who dies first."

"Good to know I have a realist as my starter. Hmm..."

Then, a name floated up to the surface of my mind.

"How does Silas sound?" I asked the two of them, eliciting a curious look from General Harding. The shellder moved about from left to right a little, rolling his eyes in his shell. I could have sworn it looked as if he was shrugging, but he suddenly stuck his tongue out and wrapped it around my hand.

"What the-"

"Looks like you have a deal there," said General Harding happily. "Most shellder try to give handshakes with their tongue."

"So you like it?"

"Well, it's a cool name..."

"Not you, sir - I was asking him."

My starter pokemon made a sound that suggested exasperation, and stuck his tongue out again, shaking my hand with it this time.

"So it's settled, then!"

And that was how my starter pokemon wound up being named Silas.

xxx

"So... what made you settle on Silas?" General Harding asked, as we walked out of the diner after settling our bill. "Not exactly a common name, that one."

"I was thinking of the word 'silence', and got Silas instead."

"Homophones, eh? Good one."

"Sir, do you have a shellder?" I asked him, recalling a question that had come to mind when I first received Silas.

He stopped for a moment to think about the question, "Well, I _did_ – Lala is a cloyster now. Then there's the two that Adrienne and Adrian used to evolve."

"Adrienne has a brother? And why did you name your shellder... that?"

"Twin, actually. He evolved into a slowking, though. Doesn't say much and prefers to sleep a lot more, so I don't release him from his pokeball that often," he replied, with some amusement in his voice. "And where I come from, we call shellfish 'lala'."

"Okay... Anyway, could you give me advice on how to train Silas? Maybe let him meet your cloyster someday?" I asked eagerly – maybe some time with his genetic relative might do him a power of good.

"No problem, kid. Remind me someday, and I'll take you to visit Lala."

"He's not here?"

"Nope – Lorelei's taking care of him for now, since her dewgong needed some company."

Just then, we reached his apartment. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a ring of keys, and twirled it around his finger.

"So... go back to the hostel and sleep tight, rookie. Tomorrow's going to be a training day – for real, this time."

"Got it, sir."

"Stop calling me that," he said, sticking out a hand and messing up my already untidy hair. "Nights, kid."

"Goodnight, sir."

xxx

When I got back to my little hostel room, I let Silas the shellder out of his pokeball. He materialized on my bed with a flash of red light, and briefly looked around the room. Turning to me, he gave me a curious look and stuck out his tongue.

"Well... it's almost time for me to go to bed, so I decided to let you out of your ball for the night," I said uncertainly, rubbing the back of my head. "Probably would be more comfortable for you, right?"

He made a soft whistling sound, to which I shook my head, "I don't understand what you say now, but hopefully in time I will. Anyway, I wanted to apologize – sorry for almost boiling you just now."

Silas shut his shell, though he did leave his tongue sticking out.

"You're free to sleep anywhere in the room, so I'll leave you to it."

Changing out of my uniform and getting into the baggy T-shirt and boxers which were my makeshift pyjamas, I moved him over to the foot of the bed, and got on it. However, as soon as I was lying flat, Silas scooted over somehow – he had no legs, for goodness' sakes – and plopped himself down on my chest.

"Umm, could you sleep somewhere else?" I asked him, though I honestly didn't mind it too much as long as I didn't get impaled in my sleep.

He didn't even bother giving me and answer – he kept his shell shut and withdrew his tongue, and within seconds, I could hear a soft sound not unlike muffled snoring coming from him. Even as my own eyelids began to grow heavier, I reached out and patted him on his shell.

"Goodnight, Silas."

xxx

Morning came way too early for me to appreciate it – being in the military hadn't helped me to become any more of a morning person – and before Silas knew it, he had been recalled to his pokeball as I made my way out of my room. Locking the door and making sure that I hadn't accidentally left my keys inside, I made my way to port control, which was as quiet as it had been the day before.

"Morning, kid," she called out, looking almost like a mantis in an electric pink outfit. "General Harding told me to pass you a message."

"Oh?" I stopped short of pressing the button that would have summoned the elevator. "What did he say?"

"He told me to ask you to head straight to the training area," she said, as she sipped from her coffee mug. "And he hopes that you packed an extra set of clothes."

"Crap, extra clothes?" I sighed – of all the things I didn't have on me, it was an extra set of clothes. "Thanks anyway, miss."

"Got it... now get out of my sight and let me get personal with the coffee."

xxx

As it turned out, training that morning consisted of exercises to improve Silas' proficiency with Surf and Aurora Beam. He was placed in a circular training ring with several moving targets at its periphery, and instructed to hit as many as he could within five minutes. A low-powered force field surrounded it, preventing any of the water and ice attacks from damaging the rest of the floor. At the end of the brief session, Silas seemed a little winded, but otherwise looked game for more training.

"Sir, why would I need extra clothes for today's training?" I asked, as I helped him to take down any targets that Silas had unintentionally broken – there were three of them.

"Ah, yes," he beamed at me. "We're done with non-reactive targets, so you get to practice your dodging skills!"

"... You're serious?"

"When am I not serious?" He smirked. "Well, I guess 'most of the time' would be a decent answer, but that's beside the point. Get in there with Silas!"

Even as I stepped into the training ring, Silas seemed to perk up at the thought of being able to attack me without being punished. I swear, the little bugger's eyes visibly lit up as I stood before him in the ring.

"Alright, Silas - your sadist of a trainer is going to be your target now, and for both of your sakes, I hope this turns out well. Fire at will, Silas!" General Harding called, as he flipped the switch that sent the force field back up over the training ring.

Almost immediately, I found an Aurora Beam being sent my way. Dropping into a roll and getting out of the attack's way, I had barely managed to get back on my feet before Silas sent a Surf attack in my direction. Needless to say, the wide-reaching move soaked me through, causing General Harding to start laughing uproariously.

"You'll need to move faster than that, kid!" He said, barely managing to speak coherently thanks to his laughing fit. "Slap some Marmite on it!"

I leaped over the excited pokemon's back as he fired two more Aurora Beams at me, and flipped him over. He let out a shrill cry of protest, and spewed out a mini water wave that nearly knocked me off my feet.

"Sir," I called out. "How long do I have to do this?"

"Hmm, let's see... I guess you're it until I've been sufficiently amused," he grinned. "But anyways, this is a good warm-up exercise for your own training, later."

"Which involves?" I asked, doing a sort of mutated pirouette to evade yet another Aurora Beam – Silas seemed to be quite fond of those.

"Don's coming down to assess your skills in a one-to-one fight," he relied nonchalantly, as he casually juggled two small dumbbells. "We need to make sure you can actually hold your ground against a competent opponent."

"What about Colonel Lowe?" I shot back through gritted teeth, as I flipped Silas over yet again, only to have him right himself using his tongue.

"Lowe's a fat bastard who couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag. So dear old Donnie's going to see if you could survive out there," he shrugged, as he dropped the dumbbells and began stretching.

"I wasn't aware that we were we on a nickname basis, Zachary," Don's distinctive voice came from the training area's doorway. "I see you've got the kid hard at work already."

"I'll ignore the sheer number of lewd comments I could derive from that sentence," General Harding replied, as he began doing push-ups. "So, anytime you're ready, Don."

"It's cool – not quite as amusing as seeing Kylie trying to dodge her pikachu's Thundershocks, though," Don remarked cheerfully, while he cracked his knuckles.

"I'd forgotten about that incident," laughed my decidedly insane superior officer, as he switched to doing one-handed push-ups. "Alright, Don! The kid's all yours!"

Silas seemed quite disappointed when the force field went down and he was told to stop attacking me, but he perked up again once Don assured him that I'd be ending up on the floor by the end of _my_ training. He hauled himself over and plopped down on the ground next to General Harding, who was busy doing some crunches.

"So, kid," Don said, as we stepped onto a foam mat that he had dragged out of a storage closet. "Do you think you're any good at martial arts?"

"I think I'll survive, sir," I replied apprehensively. "I'm more inclined to run than to stay and fight."

"Wise choice," was all he said before he lashed out with an open palm, very nearly hitting me smack on my chest. I barely managed to dodge the blow, and before I knew it, he was in the air. "Look out below!"

Reflexively, I dropped to the ground and swept a leg under Don as he landed. Having aborted the aerial kick that had been his original plan, he managed to avoid being knocked down by flipping himself over in mid-air and landing with a graceful tumble. Within the blink of an eye, he was back on his feet and dishing out a series of blows in rapid succession.

I gritted my teeth and tried desperately to parry or evade his blows. Some of the punches and chops met their mark, and they damn well _stung_. Occasionally, when he left me an opening – I suspect it was deliberate – I tried to hit him, but to no avail. I swear, the man moved like a fucking hitmonchan!

"Good show!" He nodded with a steely glint in his eye. "Now take that!"

What he did next happened so fast that it probably left afterimages burned onto the back of my eyes. Don spun around and caught me in the gut with his leg, sending me flying off the foam mat that we were sparring on. I landed in a doubled-over heap some ten feet from the mat, and for a moment, I almost thought I saw skid marks leading to my present position.

"Hmm, decent at blocking attacks, but terrible offensive," noted Don, as he gracefully stepped away from the mat – he hadn't even broken a sweat. "Maybe you could get some pointers from Moira Hew."

"Does everyone know her?" I asked, panting as I got to my feet and trying to ignore the throbbing in my stomach. "So she's a crazy driver, engineer, and now fighter?"

"Well, she used to be a general here," General Harding answered for Don. "Before Fen got his present rank, he was her assistant."

"Yup, steel," confirmed Don, as he began prancing about with a lance. "She claims that defence is the best offence, so she tends to fight like that – redirects her opponent's attacks back at them."

"Remember her nickname, Don?" chuckled my boss, as he picked Silas off the ground. "She certainly deserved it, though."

"Of course – 'the human wobbuffet'."

I was speechless. First I had been attacked by my own pokemon – with my superior's permission! And now, they were telling me that the loony driver called Aunty Moira was apparently a decent fighter.

Wonders would never cease here, or so it seemed.

xxx

"Sir?" I asked General Harding, as we made our way back to his office. "Could I ask you a question?"

"Eh?"

"Was there a break-in at the television station last night?"

He looked at me curiously, "Now where did you hear about that particular rumor?"

"Oh, it's a rumor?" I blinked – those people in messy clothing had certainly seemed worried about it.

"Yes, and you still haven't answered _my_ question."

"Well," I scratched the back of my head. "Yesterday, there were these people in crumpled clothes near the elevator. They were the ones discussing the break-in, and one of them claimed it was terrorists who did it."

He laughed, "_Terrorists?_ I guess they must be from the communications department. Those video game geeks don't do much beyond sitting in front of computers, most days. I wouldn't be surprised if they had been discussing a video game when you overheard them."

"So it's all a hoax?"

"Put it this way, kid – we're fucking port control here. Anything heading into or out of Sinnoh via the ports gets cleared by us. If there was a break-in at the television station, we'd be among the first to know, trust me," he said with a dismissive wave of his arm. "And now, we've got just enough time to grab a quick shower before we finish the miraculously small pile of work we have to clear today."

Banishing the images that came to mind from his words to the furthest, darkest corner of my conscious mind, I nodded, "Yes, sir."

It was only much later that I realized that he hadn't actually answered my question, when the evening news was hijacked.

xxx

We had just finished our work and were down in the mess hall having a cup of coffee when it happened. There had been about thirty people in the mess hall, and the kitchen had already been closed for the day. Only drinks were still available, so we settled on black coffee to reward ourselves for a day's hard work.

"After all," General Harding had said, "if you don't reward yourself for work well done, no one else cares, anyway."

The large television in the mess hall was broadcasting the evening news – something about a rabid stoutland named Cujo going berserk and killing several people – when the screen suddenly went black.

"Oi, what happened to the news?"

"The thing's still on!" The mess hall's supervisor said, shrugging. "Must be a stray magnemite nearby or something like that."

True to his word, the screen came back to life with burst of flickering static. However, this time, it was not showing the news anymore.

A thin creature in a suit sat behind an ornate wooden desk, its head wrapped in what looked like a thick white stocking. It was impossible to discern the creature's facial features or identity, since we couldn't even tell if it was human to begin with – for all we knew it could have been a prop of some sort. Our doubts were dispelled when it began speaking, though; it was definitely human, though it was using a voice modifier that made it impossible to discern its gender based on speech.

"Greetings, people of Sinnoh," the creature bowed its head slightly. "I would like to apologize for interrupting your evening news bulletin, but I'm afraid that the topic I shall be discussing is of particular urgency and couldn't be delayed any longer."

Loud murmuring and curious whispers became audible in the mess hall, as everyone came to the realization that somehow, our supposedly secure broadcast network had been hacked into.

"You may call me Slenderman," continued the creature, spreading its hands. "And now, since I think I have your attention, I shall begin."

"I am a representative of a group of pokemon trainers. Note that I said 'pokemon trainers', and not 'former pokemon trainers'. We are considerably dissatisfied with the way the government is running things, and so we decided that it was time for us to sit down and have a little chat with you happy people out there."

Slenderman leaned back in its seat, "As you know, pokemon training has been banned for eight years already, since the revolution. However, we have continued to practice the noble art of pokemon battling in secret, despite the severe penalties that would be imposed on us if we were to get caught."

A pregnant pause; everyone present in the mess hall knew exactly what happened when a person was tried for illegal pokemon training.

"So, we decided that the peoples of Earth do not deserve to have their rights denied in such a manner any longer. During the last three years, we have managed to identify a significant number of trainers whose sympathies lay with us, and so we shall be giving you all a... show tonight."

"At midnight today, Kanto Standard Time, we shall be broadcasting a pokemon battle for your viewing pleasure. It will not be a rerun of some long-finished battle, oh no – it will be a video of a battle being fought in real time. Two of our more talented trainers will be pitting their teams against each other, and we do hope you'll enjoy the show."

"So... just what is the point of this, you might ask?" Slenderman leaned forward until its face was mere inches from the camera's lens. "I don't think you'd answer that question, so I shall do it for you – we simply want the world to wake up."

"The government's reasons for banning competitive pokemon training were flimsy at best, and now, we have uncovered proof that they had... other things in mind when they dissolved the leagues. Trust me when I say that their plan for the peoples of Earth is not pleasant at all, and that it was the _fear_ of pokemon trainers which motivated them to make training illegal, nothing else," it moved back and reclined in its seat, folding its hands over its chest.

Slenderman cleared its throat, before adjusting its collar, "We know that the government is listening to me speak. And of course, we have taken measures to ensure that they can't track us down. So to the people and digimon in government... here is our deal. Tonight, we'll stage our little show for the people – trust me when I say that you won't be able to jam our broadcast even if you tried. If pokemon training is not restored to its former status within six months... let's just say that we'll be seeing you again in one year's time if nothing is done."

"Pokemon training is not a privilege that you can limit to those with affinities for it – many in the past have risen to incredible heights despite their lack of an affinity. Just take a look at the likes of Blue Oak, Cynthia Elias, and Alder Buchanan, and you'll see what I mean."

Cocking its head to one side, Slenderman offered its viewers a salute, "So I do hope that you'll enjoy the show tonight, and that we'll meet under more... favourable circumstances next time."

The screen went black once again, and a terrific uproar broke out in the mess hall. When the news came back on, no one was paying attention to it anymore, despite the news anchor's frazzled appearance and frantic reassurances that Slenderman was merely making empty threats. Of course there wouldn't be any 'show' on at midnight, and of course the government didn't negotiate with lawbreakers that hijacked television broadcasts.

When I turned to look at General Harding's reaction to the mysterious broadcast, I saw that a shadow had fallen over his face. He noticed me staring at him, and shook his head slowly. Draining his cup of coffee, he stood up and left the mess hall without saying a word.


	8. Battle

**Chapter 7 – Battle**

To say that the tiny recreational area at the hostel was crowded that night would have been a gross understatement. It seemed that almost everyone in the hostel had gotten wind of the big battle that would be aired at midnight, if one were to judge by the fact that the room's actual _floor_ was no longer visible.

But of course, some who were present in the room weren't even interested in pokemon battles to begin with; they were there to see if Slenderman would make good on his promise. After all, the government had all television channels and radio frequencies under its control. Couple that with the fact that pokemon could only be trained with the government's authorization, and you'd probably get the reason why the battle was such hot news.

According to one of the other hostel residents who worked with port control's communications department, the airwaves were practically saturated with porygon that night. He claimed that usually, only about three porygon would be set loose in the broadcasting network on most nights, but the government was not taking any chances with the battle broadcast. Apparently, their paranoia was so great that even the electricity cables running through the city weren't left unattended – General Kylie from the electricity department had been instructed to release several of her rotom into the cables for security purposes.

"Five more minutes!" called out one of the guys near the tiny television set, as several stragglers made it into the already overcrowded room. "Let's see if Slenderman can put his money where his mouth is!"

"Do you honestly think these... terrorists can get past the security tonight?" asked the bespectacled soldier who worked down in communications. "We can't even log on to the internet tonight, thanks to all the electronic pokemon they've got in the system."

"Digimon, too," nodded another soldier - one of his colleagues from the department. "I overheard Eldritch saying that they were sending in a couple of infermon, or something like that."

"Must be really desperate, hah!" laughed one of the few females that stayed in the hostel. "Now budge up, fat ass! You're blocking my view, and the show's about to start!"

At the exact moment when the plain-faced clock hanging above the television struck twelve, the image shown by the television began flickering at its edges. After several seconds, a buzzing noise was heard coming from the television's corroded speakers, and the screen abruptly went black.

"Where's the battle?"

"Oi!"

Some of them got up to leave, shaking their heads with disappointed expressions on their faces. However, they all made rapid about-faces when the screen suddenly came back to life, featuring none other than the strange being that called itself Slenderman.

"Good night, Earth!" nodded the white-masked creature. "I thank you for staying with us till this late hour, but alas, we couldn't broadcast earlier due to technical problems. It seems that the government does not want our little battle to be shown. Even as I speak, they are trying to disrupt this broadcast by using groups of porygon, rotom, and infermon – rest assured that we have foreseen such actions and taken the appropriate countermeasures."

The recreation room was silent as we digested its words – Slenderman had basically admitted to being a terrorist, and that the government was somehow powerless to stop the battle from being broadcast.

"And now, without further ado, I present you with our trainers, Red and Blue!"

We all pressed forward, trying to get a better view. The screen now showed two figures in robes that matched their names – blue and red – standing at opposite ends of a battle grid. Their faces were obscured by the robes' hoods, and the arena was brightly illuminated; clearly there was electricity being supplied to wherever the battle was being held.

"Electrical supply?" noted General Kylie's assistant, with some interest. "That'll end the battle fast."

"How so?" asked one of the older soldiers present, as he munched on a granola bar. "They can flip a switch on the battle?"

"The government will begin shutting off the power to suspected areas and see if the broadcast shows a blackout. It's all a matter of simple logic, really."

However, most of us weren't paying much attention to them – Blue had just released a rhydon and Red had just sent out an espeon. The towering rock-type threw its head back and bellowed, even as the espeon's eyes lit up with an eerie purple glow.

Before either pokemon could make their first moves, though, the room was plunged into darkness as the power went out.

xxx

The day after the battle broadcast was not a happy one by most counts.

It turned out that the government had ordered a nation-wide blackout when they couldn't pinpoint any probable sources for the broadcast. So instead of stopping the broadcast, they had actually shut-off the electricity that powered our television sets. Of course, that led to a whole lot of inconvenience all over Sinnoh, which was why everyone was in such a great mood that morning.

General Harding seemed to be the exception, though.

"Did you catch the beginning of the battle last night, kid?" he asked, as he buttoned up his military uniform.

"I did, sir. But it got cut-off..." I frowned.

"Ah, no worries – you'll have your chance to have pokemon battles soon enough," he said, as he tried to get his necktie done – 'tried' being the significant word here. "Curses on whoever invented the necktie! That particular motherfucker should have been hung with one..."

"Need help, sir?"

"Nah, it's cool... I got this shit," he muttered, glaring at the strip of black fabric. "Gary knows that I hate tying these, so he always undoes them to get back at me, the fat bastard."

"With all due respect, sir, what did you do to him?" I asked, half-wishing that I hadn't the moment the words left my mouth.

He shrugged, "I merely stuck all his toilet paper together with glue."

Upon noticing my dumbstruck look, he smirked at me, "Bet you didn't know that your boss was a psychopath, eh?"

"I... have no comments, sir."

"Chill out, kid! Anyways, I'll see about getting you some battles once Lorelei certifies your shellder as being compatible."

"So we'll need to go to Snowpoint to get that done?" I perked up a little at the thought of travelling to what was probably Sinnoh's most well-guarded military installation. "And why would we need her certification, anyway?"

"Yes, we'll need to go to Snowpoint to get it done. To answer your other question, shellder are partial ice-types, so she'll need to see how you work with it to judge your match. The water half seems decently matched, so we'll need to see if the ice part works out as well," he said, peering under his desk. "Did you see my left shoe anywhere?"

"It's near the window, sir," I pointed out, suddenly recalling something that had baffled me yesterday. "So... why weren't you happy when Slenderman got on the news yesterday?"

"Eh?" he paused just as he was about to put his shoe on. "What makes you say that?"

"Yesterday at the mess hall... You seemed... upset when the news was done."

"Oh, _that,_" he huffed, running a hand through his hair. "Let's just say that... I'd rather let the past rest and live in the present. League-style battling, traditional rules... all that stuff is dead, kid. So maybe it'll be for the best if we left the past as it is."

"Surely it couldn't be _that_ upsetting, sir?"

"Well, kid," he said, as he pored over some of the papers that were strewn over the surface of his desk. "You have to consider that I'm one of the old guard, for lack of a better word. I remember how battling used to be like. It was never meant to be a means of defying authority and showing one's discontent with the government. Pokemon and politics could not and should not be mixed – a recipe for disaster, that one is."

I remained silent as my mind processed this newest bit of information. General Harding didn't seem to notice, and went on with his explanation.

"There's also the fact that pokemon battling used to be a reason for many people's existence, mine included. Now that the world has changed... well, I guess I moved on in my own way. Landing a job that gave me the chance to train pokemon was an unexpected bonus, but I've left my trainer days behind, kid."

"Then what would you call yourself now, sir?" A person who trained pokemon but which didn't count as a trainer? That was something to think about for certain.

"I guess I'm more of a person that raises pokemon rather than a trainer nowadays. Most of the water types I train end up being sent to places like Floaroma for helping with the crops, or maybe even shipped off to the other continents to help in whatever they need them for. I do get shipments in from Hoenn on the odd occasion, but we don't exactly get requisitions for members of the lotad evolutionary line that often."

"Oh, I see..." A thought struck me. "Just why _is_ pokemon battling banned, sir?"

He thought about it for a moment, "Well, you know why the revolution began, right? Stuff like the Elites wanting to stop abuse and all that good shit?"

"Yes, sir," I nodded.

"It was found that people with affinities for a particular type could not actually hurt pokemon of that type without feeling some of the pain for themselves, once the affinity was developed to a certain extent," he said, as he stood up after lacing his shoe and began stretching his back. "So the government only issues pokemon to those who have reasonable bonds to them, to try and prevent abuse cases."

"I see..." I frowned as I recalled the day we first attempted to train Silas. "What about when I tried to boil Silas?"

"Your affinity probably isn't that well-developed yet. Once a water affinity sets in, you'll find yourself getting thirsty more often and having this strange desire to be near bodies of water," he gestured out of the window. "That's why my office is so near to the sea compared to some of the others – I'm quite miserable when you keep me too far from water for prolonged periods of time."

"Wow," I was surprised by what he had just said. "So your greatest fear is dehydration?"

"Hardly," he snorted, as he yanked the door to his office open. "Come on, we've got more work to get done today before we can start Silas' training..."

He paused and turned to face me even as I was heading for the door, "But tell me, kid... what is your _deepest_ fear?"

I hesitated, not sure of how to answer _that_ question. Hell, I had no idea if it was his idea of a joke (given his notoriously perverted and questionable sense of humor).

"Ah, forget it – I can't do those quote impressions like Fen does. Get your ass in gear, rookie, we've got a shitload of work to settle!"

And so began yet another incident of me trying to keep up with the blur of a speed demon known as General Zachary Harding as he zipped through the corridors of port control. When I finally caught up to him at the cargo elevator that led down to the docks, he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Any plans tonight?"

I thought about it as the elevator doors slide shut noisily, "None, sir."

"Good, you're coming with me tonight. I think it's time for you to be exposed to some of the more... _real_ stuff we deal with at port control."

"_Real_ stuff, sir?" I asked, bewildered. Just how real could stuff get at port control?

"You heard me right – this shit's the real deal. I'd advise you to make a run back for some street clothes during lunch, since military uniforms aren't exactly welcome where we'll be going," he replied as he stepped out of the elevator and began looking around the docks. "Just where is that slacker, anyways... OI, KIRRIN!"

I jumped as he shouted out the name and drew several curious looks from a flock of wingull that were perched on a crane gantry. Within a few seconds, a greasy-faced head was thrust out of the crane operator's cab, peering at us from beneath a messy bunch of dreadlocks.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT, YOU NO GOOD COCKSUCKER?" bellowed the man, as he brandished a wrench at us.

"Get down here, you slacker!" General Harding shouted back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We've got something to talk about!"

"LIKE HELL WE DO! I'M WORKING HERE, SO SHUT YOUR PIE-HOLE!"

"Ah, fuck this shit."

With a single, smooth movement, he released a gastrodon from one of the six pokeballs he had clipped to his belt, "Gary, freeze Kirrin!"

A flash of light indicated that Kirrin had released one of his own pokemon, and soon enough, General Harding's gastrodon was firing Ice Beams at Kirrin's machamp.

"Sludge Bomb!"

"Cross Chop!" commanded Kirrin, as he nimbly leapt down onto the dock with an eager expression. "You always have a knack for coming down here when I want a battle, eh? Arnold, Ice Punch!"

"Last night's news hijacking got me in the mood," General Harding laughed. "Gary, Scald!"

"Dodge it!"

The four-armed fighting type barely managed to evade the jet of boiling water that the slug-like pokemon fired in its direction, but recovered fast enough to snatch up the gastrodon before it could send another attack its way. Gary the gastrodon let out an annoyed chirp, and let loose with a veritable torrent of poisonous sludge even as the machamp threw it at the nearest brick wall. The gastrodon was knocked-out upon impact, but the machamp didn't last too long after the sludge drenching – it fainted within seconds of being given the poisonous shower.

"Good match," Kirrin said with a big smile after returning his pokemon, as he stepped forward and gave General Harding a greasy handshake. "Who's the kid?"

"He's the actual reason why I came down here. Kid, this is Timothy Kirrin – he's the head mechanic down here on the docks."

"Good to meet you, kiddo!" I tried not to grimace as my arm was almost ripped out of its socket by the man's enthusiastic handshake. "So, what do you want me to do with him, Harding?"

"Teach him about the equipment we have here, stuff like that. Just the basics so that he knows what he'll be overseeing someday," he said, scratching his head and looking like he was thinking hard. "I'd do it myself, but tonight's a town run for me."

"Oh, it's tonight?" Kirrin asked with some interest. "Which ring?"

"Don Corneo's ring, of course," General Harding replied with a smirk. "It's the most entertaining."

"Put fifty on Robbins for me if he's there tonight – I'll pay you back when my salary comes in," Kirrin said, as he clapped a massive, grease-covered hand on my shoulder. "Now, I'll be borrowing this kid of yours for a bit."

"Good luck, kid!" General Harding called out with a wave, as I was steered away from him by the mechanic, wondering just why my commanding officer was apparently in charge of a gambling operation somewhere in town.

xxx

"So, kid – are you ready for a night out on the town?" General Harding asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet even as he zipped up his hoodie. "It's most certainly not for the faint of heart, mind you."

"I'm ready, sir. I think," I replied, squinting suspiciously at him. "Are you really involved in some kind of gambling ring or something, sir?"

"Gambling... that's a neat way of putting it. Whatever – get your ass in gear, rookie!"

With that, he took-off at a breakneck pace along the sidewalks and alleys of Canalave. I very nearly lost sight of him several times, and almost got knocked down by a couple of vehicles when he decided to cross a road or two. Needless to say, things only got worse once he got a little further from the docks and a little closer to the industrial part of the city.

"Watch it, moron!"

"Oi," shouted a driver, even as he flipped us the birdie. "We're driving here!"

"Shut the fuck up!" General Harding called over his shoulder, even as he ducked into yet another dark alley. "We're working here, you piss-wit!"

"_What_ did you just call him, sir?" I was aghast at the fact that one, my commanding officer had violated all the pedestrian laws that probably existed, and two, he had just verbally-abused some random driver (though honestly, I should have been expecting that one, especially since most night drivers tended to be from the military, anyways).

"I believe I called him a piss-wit. There's nothing quite like adding a touch of class to profanity, no?" He grinned, as he finally came to a stop near a rusted fire escape. "So, kid... what do you know about the Underground?"

"You mean the nightclub thing?" I asked in return, shaking my head. "Sorry, never was one for the nightlife, sir."

"You think the Underground is a _nightclub?_ Oh dear, this might take some explaining," he scratched his chin and looked slightly confused. "How could you possibly have _not_ heard of the Underground?"

"I'm timid, sir."

He raised an eyebrow, "Timid? Tell that to Silas the next time you try to make soup with him."

"I wouldn't have _really_ boiled him!" I retorted, blushing a little.

"That's what he said," he said in a sing-song voice.

"I meant that in all seriousness, sir. So just what is the Underground supposed to be?"

"Simply put," he said, squinting at the ground in the darkness, "the Underground is where Canalave's party animals gather for anything and everything that's illegal. Now, where's the manhole..."

I could almost feel my jaw dropping, "You can't be serious, sir!"

"And why wouldn't I be?" He grunted, as he hefted a manhole open. "Give me a hand with this cover, will you? Damn things are heavier than they are useful."

Still in a partial state of disbelief, I scurried over and helped him to haul the manhole cover to one side of the alley even as the sound of water flowing became audible through the opening. General Harding pranced over to the manhole, and unclipped a pokeball from his belt.

"Tell me, rookie... can you swim?" He asked with a grin.

"I can, sir... but in there?" I grimaced at the thought of having a swim in Canalave's sewage, causing him to start cackling madly with laughter.

"Ah, I was just fucking with you... No one in their right minds would swim down there, kid. That's what maintenance platforms and ledges are for!"

"Wait, sir," I stopped him just as he was about to release his pokemon into the sewer. "Are you telling me that we're going _into_ the sewer?"

"No shit, Sherlock. What was your first clue?"

"And that this is illegal?"

"Well, where we'll be going is the illegal bit," was his reply. "I don't think that it's illegal to actually have a night-time stroll in the sewers now, is it?"

"So just _why_ are you doing this again?"

"We are doing this, dear. Now just shut up and follow me down there!" With that, he released the lone pokemon into the opening, and clipped the pokeball back to his belt. Deftly, he hopped down onto the ladder that was built into the manhole's side, and began descending its rungs. "Come on in, kid! Believe it or not, this _is_ actually work-related."

Shaking my head in disbelief, I slowly made my way down the ladder, eventually coming to a metal platform with rusted railings. We were located several feet above a surging stream of water that was rendered black by the lack of light, and the only source of illumination down there was a dim, flickering light bulb fixed about ten feet away from us. Looking upwards, I saw that the opening through which we had entered the sewers appeared to be no bigger than a postage stamp.

Up to that point in time, I hadn't even noticed the pokemon which he had released into the sewer. It was only when I heard a faint buzzing sound that I recalled him letting it out of its pokeball, and I turned to see it hovering over the water's surface. The rotom had assumed its 'wash' configuration, and was regarding me with a curious expression.

"Hey there, Sammie," General Harding greeted it. "Mind lighting the way for us? And handling any wild pokemon we might encounter, of course."

The rotom buzzed happily, and floated towards us to pat his head with a hose-like arm. Within seconds, it had lit up the sewers with a powerful Flash attack, revealing the existence of a narrow maintenance bridge that led from the platform we were standing on to a darker part of the sewer that its light could not reach.

"Follow me, kid. And watch out for wild grimer... they just love to ambush unwary sewer explorers."

"Canalave has a grimer population?" I asked nervously, my hand going to my belt and reflexively brushing against Silas' pokeball. "How come none of them have gone topside?"

He paused halfway along the length of the bridge, and cocked his head to one side, "That's actually a good question... They never come topside, but... Eh, it makes no sense at all."

"Sir?" I asked, even as he continued walking, causing his rotom to move further along the bridge. "What made no sense?"

"We don't have a poison specialist here at Canalave, so just why aren't they going topside?" He mused, even as we took several turns that eventually took us into a massive chamber with miniature waterfalls cascading down into a churning pool, nearly thirty feet beneath the bridge that we were standing on. "Maybe they're just well-behaved, or something."

I nodded, as we reached yet another platform. He led me towards a solid-looking door that was studded with rivets the size of a man's closed fist, and began fiddling with its lock. It had been set into the sewer's wall, and had become rusty thanks to the moist environment. However, its hinges were noticeably shinier than the rest of it, and several rusty arcs on the platform indicated that it had probably been opened not too long ago.

General Harding let out a happy whistle when something in the lock clicked, and the massive door slowly inched open.

"Kid, welcome to the Canalave Underground," he said with a dramatic bow – though by then, I was too shocked to even notice.

The doorway revealed a long passageway hewn out of solid rock that opened up at a bright area somewhere about fifty feet from where we stood. Through the opening, I could see what resembled several houses, and also colourful sheets of material that resembled the canvas rooftops of the Hearthome bazaar.

"Catching flies?" General Harding asked with a grin, even as he shoved me into the passageway. "Come on, rookie – we've got work to do, and the night isn't getting any younger!"

xxx

I was practically overwhelmed by the sights of the Underground. There were actual houses and a bazaar as I had guessed from my first glance, but those were hardly the most amazing of the lot. Vendors offered me all sorts of items whose names I hadn't heard since before the revolution and _pokemon were all over the place. _It was almost as if I had stepped back in time to my childhood or something like that, from the things that were happening all around me.

General Harding had returned his rotom, and now had his hood up, concealing his face. However, his messy black hair stuck out of the hood, which prevented it from fully covering his face, anyway.

"Stick close to me, kid – the Underground can be a rough place for the uninitiated."

"Sir, shouldn't we report this or something?" I asked in a low tone, as I ignored a woman offering me several X-Defends at a discounted price. "It's probably illegal, like you said!"

"Kid, who do you think takes most of the profits from this place?" He asked me with a smirk. "Anything that goes on down here happens with the government's consent and our cut of the pie is big enough to keep everyone up there quiet."

I frowned as the full implications of his words sank in, "That's corruption!"

"Call it what you may," he shrugged. "But believe me when I say that places like this are one of the few things that keep most former trainers happy. They get to have their pokemon battles, and we get to pretend that the government has absolute control over who trains pokemon. It's a win-win situation, really."

All I could do was nod mutely, as realization sunk in that the people I had spent a large portion of my life believing in weren't above being corrupt. The government, for all its rules and regulations, was perfectly content in deceiving the people into thinking that it abided by its own laws, it seemed.

I didn't get to complete my musings on the matter, though – General Harding had decided to walk right up to a man wearing a suit of all things, and had proceeded to deck him across the face. Chaos ensued, and before I knew it, several pokemon were released and had jumped into the fray.

"Harding!" called the man, even as his hitmonlee kicked two innocent bystanders into a stall selling berries. "What the fuck are _you_ doing down here tonight?"

"I have an appointment with Kenneth, you piss-wit," answered General Harding with a wolfish smile. "Helix, use Rollout!"

People and pokemon alike scattered in panic as the omastar began spinning at an unnervingly high speed and charged right at the suited man. His hitmonlee tried to kick the spiral pokemon, but missed and wound up crashing into an ursaring that didn't look too happy at the disturbance. The massive bear-like pokemon roared and grabbed the fighting-type, tossing it into the air like a rag doll.

"Bah!" cursed the man, as he let out a roserade. "Eva, stop the snail!"

Before the omastar could turn around and nail the roserade, it received a face-full of Sleep Powder, causing it to topple over onto its side in a drowsy daze. General Harding returned it with a smirk, and gave a jaunty salute to the man he had attacked.

"Nice one, Dolph. Maybe you ought to find your hitmonlee, now," he laughed. "I'd forgotten about your roserade, though."

The man smiled, even as his roserade pirouetted up to him and hugged him around the waist, "Eh, she's good. So... who's the fresh meat?"

"This," General Harding replied, pushing me towards the man, "is my new assistant. Kid, this is Mr. Dolph – he's the man basically in charge of the Underground."

I nodded mutely – I just didn't know what to say to this... _mob boss_ – and shook his extended hand. He offered me a small smile, and returned his roserade.

"One of the new, naive, kinds, I see. Don't worry about it, kid – everything that goes on here is perfectly fine by the government. No drugs, no prostitutes, and no gambling."

"Can the act, Dolph," smirked my boss, as he grabbed my shoulder. "Come on, kid. Now that the top brass here know who you are, we can get down to business."

"And just what does _that_ entail, sir?" I asked sourly once we were out of Dolph's sight. "Why do you even need me here, anyway?"

"Firstly, it involves finding a certain scumbag who I'd like to feed his own penis to. The reason why I need you here is simply because someday, you'll have to do this for yourself," he replied with a shrug. "I won't be holding my job forever, believe it or not. Sooner or later, I might have to take my leave of Canalave."

That caught my interest, and cooled my temper somewhat, "Why would that be so, sir?"

"Let's just say that," he paused, "I have some... personal matters that need to be settled. I guess you could call them family problems."

"No disrespect intended here sir, but how bad can family matters get?" I asked. "Couldn't you just take some extended leave or something and settle it?"

"I wish it was that simple, but it isn't. Hell, most things in life aren't," he stopped in his tracks, and turned about to face me. "I _did_ read your file, you know. I'm sure you of all people would appreciate how tricky family can get."

Something akin to fear welled-up inside my gut, causing me to flinch upon hearing those words. "I get your point, sir."

With a nod, he turned back to face the main street and began squinting through a window that was covered in a thick layer of dust. "Ah, don't worry about it, kid," he said, even as he began walking towards a small hut with tinted windows. "I'll explain it when the time is right. Now, if you'll kindly watch the back door of that hut for me, I've got a degenerate drug dealer to kick in the balls."


	9. Ring

**Chapter 8 – Ring**

I had made my way behind the ramshackle hut and waited there for all of three seconds before I heard General Harding kicking the front door down. Muffled cursing could be heard coming through the walls, even as the hut's back door began shaking violently.

"Where's the fucking keys?"

"Under the-"

With an almighty crash, the lone window facing me exploded outward in a shower of glass – it was immediately clear that the speaker didn't get to finish his sentence because he had been thrown out through the hut's window.

General Harding sauntered up to the broken window and flicked pieces of glass out of his way, before leaning against the frame.

"Get the idiot, kid. That's who we came for tonight," he said with a smirk. "Kenneth, it's really been too long since we last met. How've you been?"

I got a closer look at the man lying in a bleeding heap on the ground, even as I stepped forward and trapped his arms behind his back. He had a broken nose and a black eye, and General Harding hadn't spent more than ten seconds with him.

"Bloody shit, this is assault and battery!" he snarled, as I hauled him to his feet and he began struggling. "Let me go, you dogs!"

"You wound me, you really do," laughed my boss as he hopped through the broken window and landed lightly on the glass-littered pavement outside the hut. "So, I hear you've been taking some cuts of the earnings. What have you to say for yourself?"

"I know nothing!" snapped Kenneth, as he turned to squint at me through his black eye. "And since when have you brought your little bitches down here?"

"Say what!"

"Relax, kid," smirked General Harding as he came closer to us. "Down here, they seem to think that I'm a nymphomaniac of sorts... like I care."

"Yeah, kid! That man here? Nothing but a no-good kiddie fiddling-"

I nearly went down when General Harding slammed his fist into Kenneth's face hard enough for an audible cracking noise to be heard. The injured man let out a shriek of pain, even as several teeth fell out of his mouth.

"Now, see that's the problem we have here, Kenneth! Idiots like you try to skim money off the government's take and fuck with the ledgers, and then you try to deny it when I get sent down here. What kind of nonsense is this?"

"I tell you, I know nothing! I haven't taken any of your cash!" shouted Kenneth, causing General Harding's expression to change into a pronounced frown.

"Not going to cooperate, I see. Let him go, kid."

"Sir?"

"Just release your grip on him," General Harding shrugged, while he cracked his knuckles. "The stubborn dick's not going to work with us, I think."

"Damn-"

"SHUT UP."

Kenneth ended up with his other eye being blackened instead of finishing his retort. Then, he coughed up some blood after taking a painful-looking blow to the stomach.

"One more thing to settle – I might be many things, but a pedophile is not one of them. Thanks for your understanding, and the missing money is back in its rightful bank account already, yes?" he said disinterestedly, as he wiped his hands on Kenneth's shirt. "Come on, kid, we're heading for our next stop. Make sure you recognize this particular scumbag – half the time I get sent down here, it's his fault."

"Yes, sir," I replied shakily, even as we left Kenneth to collapse to the ground in a shivering heap.

If I had once thought of General Zachary Harding as a hyperactive man who probably wouldn't harm anyone, I certainly didn't think so anymore.

xxx

"So..." General Harding let the sentence hang as we approached a large, warehouse-like building. "I take it you didn't approve of what I did to Kenneth back there."

"I have no comment, sir," I replied evenly.

"Be honest with me, kid. How badly do you think I handled that situation?" he asked, stopping beside a man selling hot dogs from a little cart. "Hmm, those look tasty. Had your dinner yet?"

"With all due respect, sir," I said, eyeballing the vendor's grimy hands with some distrust, "I think you could have handled that drug dealer in a more non-violent way. And no, I haven't had my dinner yet."

"Two hot dogs, please," he told the vendor, even as he turned to face me with an amused expression on his face. "Well, then. Tell me, how would you have handled Kenneth?"

I stared at him. "Excuse me, sir?"

"You said it – the way I manhandled him was way too violent... Not suited for all members of society," he shrugged, as he handed the vendor some money. "So how would you have settled that prick?"

"Umm, couldn't you have talked it out with him?" I asked, even as he prodded me with a hot dog. "Sir?"

"Firstly, the hot dog's for you. Secondly, you can't talk any sense into a drug dealer – it's like trying to violate a law of physics or something. So how _would_ you have done it?" He smirked. "Seriously, the dude owes so much money to so many people that he can't leave this place for the rest of his life without being killed. If not for Dolph's protection, he'd have been killed years ago."

"... I get the point, sir."

"Excellent," he cheered. "Now, take the dog and eat it! You're thin enough as it is, and goodness knows you'd have a nightmare trying to get laid if you're a stick."

"Sir!" I exclaimed, and I could practically feel my face turning red. "Can we not talk about that in public?"

"What, sex?" he asked, assuming an expression of incredulity. "No one down here cares, kid. Watch this."

Before I could say a word, he had turned to the hot dog vendor. "How much do you charge for a blowjob?"

The man didn't even seem fazed by the request. "Whorehouse is down the road, boy."

"See, kid? Told you so," General Harding chirped happily. "Sex is something ordinary down here! Everyone's used to it."

"But still! It's not polite-"

"Politeness can SUCK MY COCK!" he crowed, causing me to jump. The hot dog vendor merely gave us a disinterested look.

I shook my head out of disbelief. "... I give up, sir."

"Good!" He said triumphantly – the effect of his words was diminished somewhat by the fact that his mouth was full – as he walked down the street. "Come on, kid. It's time to help dear old Timothy place his usual wager."

"The mechanic, sir?" I asked, recalling the name.

"Correct – did you manage to scrub all the grease out of your uniform?" he asked me with a grin. "Timothy tends to forget that not everyone wears overalls."

"So just what is he betting on?" I asked, as I opened up the grease paper containing my hot dog. He might have had grimy hands, but the vendor's food _did_ smell good. One bite confirmed that its smell wasn't the only thing that was good about it.

I guessed that I'd worry about the possible food poisoning tomorrow.

"It's 'who' and not 'what', dear. He's betting on a man named Robbins," he said, as he threw away his hot dog's wrapper. "And Robbins is in that building there."

My eyes followed his pointer finger to the warehouse. "A warehouse, sir?"

"It does look like on, doesn't it?" he mused, as he pulled up his hood. "Stick close to me, kid. And try not to look lost."

After a couple of blocks, we made it to the warehouse. Once we stepped past the two burly bouncers at its main door, I realized just why it was located at the Underground. Why, you might ask?

Well, to put it simply, it was an arena for illegal pokemon battles.

xxx

"This is illegal!" I hissed, trying not to stare too much at the numerous _pokemon trainers_ that were casually loitering about in the large building. "Sir, if the authorities raid this place-"

"And just who are _we_, pray tell?" General Harding laughed. "Relax, kid. Everything here's cool – the government gets a big cut from the bookies, trust me."

"Big enough to ignore a crime that is punishable with the death sentence, sir?" I pointed out. "Please don't tell me the corruption is _that_ bad..."

He gave me a huge grin - you know what I mean. It was none other than the shit-eating type. "It is."

"Well, fuck! Pardon the language, sir," I muttered unhappily.

"What's so wrong about it?" he asked curiously. "Corruption's always been around, so it's really a question of its magnitude."

"But... It... I... This!" I gave up trying to form a coherent rebuttal to his claim. "It's still wrong."

He merely raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Many things are wrong in this world, kid. The trick is being able to differentiate those that can be left alone and those that need fixing."

I couldn't even think of a reply to that one.

"So," he said, shaking his head. "I do believe we were here to place a bet on Robbins for our dear friend the mechanic, Timothy Kirrin."

"If you say so, sir," I nodded, still feeling mentally numbed by everything which I had seen so far – and it wasn't even my second week on the job!

"Relax, kid! Let me introduce you to a couple of good folks around here..."

"Good folks? Here?" a slight chuckle escaped from me upon hearing those words used in the same sentence. "I highly doubt that, sir."

"Well, good and bad _are _relative, you know. Just ask George Orwell. Ah, here's one of them – oi, Leroy!" General Harding called out, drawing several curious looks. "And what the FUCK are you people looking at?"

"Still haven't changed, I see," said a quiet voice from behind us. I jumped upon hearing it, but General Harding turned around and gave its owner a wide grin.

"Colin!" He said happily, bounding forward and giving the hapless man a big hug. "Kid, meet Colin – he's one of the best Underground trainers Canalave has ever seen."

Colin was a well-built man who wore a military vest over a black T-shirt, and whose forearms were covered liberally in tattoos. His hair stuck out in all directions as if he had been on the receiving end of a nasty electrical shock, and his facial expression seemed to convey an air of boredom.

"My greetings," he nodded, pulling a box of cigarettes out of his vest's pocket. "So, down to business... What's the wager tonight?"

"Fifty on Robbins," my boss replied. "What are the match-ups like tonight?"

"Three rounds tonight," grunted Colin, as he lit his cigarette. "First round's against Chris Connor, and I've seen Bertram and Joy Joy in the pool of trainers tonight."

General Harding whistled. "You heard that, kid? We're in for a good show tonight – Chris Connor, Betram, and Joy Joy will be pitting their teams against each other in the ring."

"Are they that good?" I asked, causing Colin to let out an amused snort.

"_Good?_ Kid, they're among the top ten trainers down here. Chris Connor's specialized, too."

"Specialized?" the way he said it made me feel as though I should have known what it meant. "Sorry, but how would he do that?"

"Specialized trainers only use one type," he replied, as he pulled a small notebook out of his other pockets. "Tough to do that and win consistently, which is why Chris is good – his dark team hasn't lost more than ten matches since we got the ring up and running."

"There are a couple more specialists here, right?" General Harding chimed in. "Brandon, Carol, Akira, and Kurt?"

Colin shook his head. "They all have one differently-typed pokemon on their teams. Those three consider having a move fitting their overall team to be specializing, anyways."

"Ah, yes... the honchkrow with Psychic was Kurt's, yes?"

"So what was your wager again? Fifty on Elizabeth, was it?"

"Fifty on Robbins."

"Cash?" Colin asked, holding out his hand while he shoved his notebook back into the pocket that he had kept it in. General Harding handed him a fifty, which he stashed away in yet another pocket – got to love military vests for their pockets.

"See you at the ringside, Colin," my boss said, as he grabbed me by the shoulder. "Come on, kid – time to get ourselves some good ringside places!"

xxx

The 'ring' turned out to occupy half of the entire building. It was placed at the back, and consisted of a rectangular arena about fifty feet by thirty feet in size. Given that the warehouse had a fifty-foot ceiling, there was indeed a substantial amount of space for pokemon battling – however, despite its size it still presented a handicap of sorts for flying types, according to General Harding.

Around the arena were rows of bleacher seats not unlike those found at the fields of most high schools, and these were separated from the arena by large sheets of industrial-grade transparisteel. A crudely-made sign had been taped to the base of each sheet, assuring members of the audience that 'sit tight and don't shit your pants, these panels are safe'. At regular intervals, bands of metallic netting had been added to reinforce the sheets, giving the whole barrier a sturdy look.

We were quite early, and so we managed to snag a couple of seats somewhere in the middle of the rows and also near the arena's center.

"Good seats tonight," chirped my hyperactive yet dangerously deranged boss – I still recalled his handling of Kenneth clearly, thank you very much. "We'll see both of the trainers, and ALL of the action!"

I had cheered up – a little – at the thought of being able to witness a proper pokemon battle again after all these years. Hey, I guess it kind of stayed with me from the days when I saw none other than Zachary Harding taking on Steven Stone on the television screen. So I was quite excited to be there at the arena, I guess.

For the record, I was still pretty pissed off at my commanding officer. Hell, I guess he was more of a boss than a commanding officer, given the way he behaved.

The bleachers were filling up with all manner of people from the Underground – I could've sworn that I saw the hot dog vendor somewhere in the crowd. Bookies flitted about the bleachers like moths drawn to a flame, picking up bets and informing people about how the odds were like tonight.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice came from the corroded speakers mounted all around the bleachers, "may I have your attention please... We are about to begin tonight's UNDERGROUND LEAGUE!"

It was almost as if a bomb had detonated in the arena. The crowd rose to its collective feet, and members of the audience began shouting out the names of their favored trainers. I didn't know what to do, and so I merely remained in my seat, even as the audience's voice morphed into an almost ritualistic chant. When I gave it some more attention, I realized that the chant itself was gibberish – somehow, everyone's voices managed to blend into a monotonous sound that had no particular meaning in any language that I was fluent in.

"And now, introducing our first contestants for the night... Joy Joy and... Brandon!"

The crowd went completely _wild_ upon hearing Joy Joy's name, to the point whereby Brandon's was almost drowned out completely. However, they did go even wilder upon catching his name. I stood up in my place to get a better look at the arena, and saw that the two trainers had taken their places at elevated platforms at the ends of the arena.

Joy Joy was a mousy-looking girl with pink hair, but who nonetheless managed to radiate a distinct air of confidence. She was already holding an enlarged pokeball in her right hand, and a megaphone was clutched in her left.

"Why does she need that?" I shouted into General Harding's ear.

"Listen to the crowd, kid!" He shouted back with a smile. "She's got a real soft voice, so she needs to it to command her team!"

My curiosity satisfied, I turned to look at Brandon. He was decked out in an oversized hoodie, and his face was concealed beneath its hood. Like Joy Joy, he was already holding a pokeball in his right hand, though he wasn't holding a megaphone like she was.

"Trainers!" boomed the referee from the side of the arena. "I want a good clean match! Three-on-three, no substitutions! Now, begin!"

Even as the two of them tossed their pokeballs into the air and released their first pokemon, the creatures materializing on the ground after spilling out of their pokeballs as streams of light.

On her side of the arena, a roserade waved its roses at the crowd, filling the air with sweet-smelling pollen. For his part, Brandon had released a probopass that was buzzing about excitedly, its three mini-noses spinning around it at a high speed.

"Puspa, Leaf Storm!" Joy Joy's amplified voice called out, causing her roserade to throw both of its arms into air, where countless leaves began materializing.

"Thunder Wave, Magoo!" the probopass flew towards the roserade, even as the conjured leaves began flying towards it and glancing-off its metallic skin. With a shriek, it released an electrical pulse that paralyzed the grass-type where it stood.

"Puspa!" Joy Joy shrieked. "Return!"

"_And Joy Joy has returned her roserade!_" declared the commentator, upon seeing the grass pokemon vanish from the arena with a flash of light. "_What pokemon will she use next?_"

The crowd went berserk, even as Joy Joy released her next pokemon – a lucario. Brandon's probopass – apparently named Magoo, of all names – had made its way back to his side of the arena, and let out an electrical discharge upon seeing the fighting-type materialize.

"Anubis, Aura Sphere!"

"Zap it!" Brandon shouted, leaning forward while gripping the platform's railings with both his hands. His hood slipped a little, revealing a messy mass of blond hair.

Joy Joy's lucario fired a pulsing sphere of light at the compass pokemon, which let loose with a Zap Cannon that missed its target completely. The stray lightning bolt slammed into the transparisteel barrier between them and the audience, causing the people there to reflexively duck for cover. Probopass took the hit head-on and was thrown several feet backwards, its three noses flying into a veritable frenzy around it.

"Dance, Anubis, Dance!"

"Draw it in, then Earth Power!"

The lucario jumped into the air and began a Swords Dance, only to be slammed back into the ground by an invisible force. It scrambled to try and regain its footing, even as the probopass' eyes began glowing with energy and the distance between them closed.

"_And it looks like we have Brandon's probopass using its Magnet Pull!_" the commentator cried out. "_Who will get the first blow?_"

"Anubis, CLOSE COMBAT!" Joy Joy shouted, as her pokemon struggled to free itself from the probopass' magnetic pull.

"Throw it off!" Brandon ordered, but it was too late. His probopass, too busy trying to pull the lucario in and fire-up an Earth Power attack, took the hits right on its coppery nose. The wall of earth which had been steadily rising up from the ground collapsed under its own weight, burying both pokemon under a mound of soil.

Almost immediately, the audience went silent. The referee strode up to the edge of the arena and squinted at the pile of earth, trying to discern any signs of life. After several seconds, he raised his hand and bit his whistle, signalling that the round was over.

However, as soon as he had turned his back to the arena, the soil heap exploded, revealing Joy Joy's lucario standing over Brandon's unconscious probopass. It limped out of the messy area, and made it back to its mistress' side of the arena. While it looked worn-out, it still managed to stay on its feet, glaring defiantly at Brandon as he recalled his probopass.

"Go, Richard!"

What appeared to be a mass of interlocked gears emerged out of its pokeball, hovering and rotating slowly several feet above the ground. Several eyes were visible on the various gears that made up its body, and a circular ring spun about its body like a hula hoop.

"Shift up!" Brandon called, even as Joy Joy ordered her lucario to use an Aura Sphere on his klinklang.

The steel-type's gears froze for a brief moment and the lucario's attack clipped its side. Within a second, though, the gears had rearranged themselves and started to spin a higher speed. The klinklang fired an electric attack at the lucario before it could recover from its earlier exertions, knocking it out with one hit.

"_And Joy Joy is down to her last pokemon!_" screamed the commentator as the crowd went berserk. "_Who will she pick tonight?_"

She answered his question by releasing a galvantula into the arena.

"Arachne, hit-and-run!" she shouted through her megaphone, as the electric spider raced towards its floating opponent, firing arcs of electricity at it all the while.

"Start a sandstorm, Richard!"

Sand rose up from the very ground as the steel-type summoned up a sandstorm as its trainer had ordered it to. The galvantula was not deterred, however, and continued to zap it every few seconds. Soon, visibility was reduced to zero within the arena, as the sandstorm raged against the transparisteel barriers like smoke trapped in a force field.

Out of nowhere, an ear-splitting screech was heard, followed by the sound of metal hitting metal. The sandstorm dissipated almost as fast as it had begun, revealing Arachne the galvantula standing triumphantly over the klinklang, which it had immobilized with electrical silk. Even as we watched, it used the silk to shock the gear pokemon some more, causing the gears to stop moving altogether.

"Klinklang is unable to battle! This round goes to galvantula!" the referee declared, once again sending the audience into a crazed cheering frenzy.

I was awed by the sight – these people were doing something which they knew could get them killed, and yet they didn't seem to care. The audience didn't seem bothered by it, either.

After some thought, Brandon released a camerupt into the arena. As soon as it saw the galvantula, it exhaled a massive Flamethrower in the spider's direction, sending the spider scurrying. Joy Joy called out to her pokemon in an attempt to mount some sort of a counter attack, but it was too occupied with the camerupt's attacks.

The camerupt suddenly rushed forward and slammed its entire bulk into the electric spider, before summoning up a sandstorm that obscured our view of the melee. By the time the sandstorm cleared, the match was over, and Joy Joy recalled her galvantula with a small smile on her face. Brandon was stepping down from his battle platform, and his hood slipped off when his camerupt nuzzled him. I got the feeling that I had seen him somewhere before, but my memory couldn't match his face to a particular moment in the past.

"Sir, do you know him?" I shouted into General Harding's ear, as I pointed at Brandon's retreating back. "He looks familiar!"

"He should!" He shouted back at me. "He's Fen's assistant – helps to train Fen's steel-types by bringing them down here! Usually Fen will come down for himself, but I guess he's occupied tonight!"

I could only blink at him in response to that statement. Apparently, the corruption which kept the Underground running was not an isolated thing, if more than just one of the higher-ups at port control actually came down here on a regular basis.

xxx

"So... How was it?" General Harding asked me as we replaced the cover on the manhole that led to the Underground. "Were the battles fun or what?"

"I... I really don't know what to say, sir," I replied softly. "What we just did... It was wrong."

"Wrong by whose definitions?" he asked, leaning against the alley's wall and folding his arm across his chest. "You seemed to enjoy the sights down under as much as I did, and that's saying something."

I hesitated before answering. "Well, it's the law. Everyone has to follow the law... right?"

"Ever heard the saying 'rules are meant to be broken'?" he said, as he began walking out of the alley. "Sometimes, we can only do the right thing by going wrong to begin with."

I frowned. "That hardly makes any sense, sir."

"Maybe someday you'll understand, kid. And I can't blame you, either – once you've seen the true face of pokemon training, you'll know what I mean," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I trust you know how to find your way back to the hostel?"

"I think I'll manage, sir," I nodded.

"Alright, then – see you tomorrow!" With that, he broke into his usual speed-walking mode, and left me in the alley.

As I began to walk back to the hostel along the darkened streets, Slenderman's words echoed in my mind.

"_Pokemon training is not a privilege that you can limit to those with affinities for it._"

The law made everything that I had just witnessed illegal. But there at the Underground, surrounded by people who didn't give a damn for the government's laws, it felt so _right_.

But of course, there was the problem of corruption to be reckoned with. Assuming that General Harding had been right in saying that the government turned a blind eye to the Underground's activities in exchange for a portion of their profits, then it merely served to show that things had gone bad at a much deeper level. After what seemed like a long time, I reached the hostel as I finally began to accept the fact that the government which I had spent my whole life believing in was ultimately little better than its predecessors.

It was then that I decided on what I needed to do with my military career.

Assuming that General Harding would one day vacate his position as the head of the water department, I would probably stand a chance at taking his place. Of course, once I made it into that position of power, things would change. However, I would probably have some competition for the rank, which made things significantly more difficult.

I actually stopped walking for a moment to consider the sheer enormity of the goal I had just set for myself. Harding himself wasn't much of an issue, given his pending time-out. The trainers from the Underground, though, would probably turn out to be a tougher nut to crack – Robbins may have lost, but he had only been defeated after a gruelling twenty-minute battle between his medicham and Chris Connor's spiritomb. And then, there were the others like General Fen who also supported the Underground in their own way.

It seemed that there would be a lot of opposition if any attempts were made to bust the corruption that had permeated into the higher levels of Canalave's government.

Nonetheless, it was with a spring in my step that I made it back to my dorm room.


	10. Double

**Chapter 9 – Double**

In the weeks that came after my little trip to the Underground with General Harding, I began to pick up more of the skills that were required for my survival at port control. I learned how to zip about the place as speedily as he did, and memorized the layouts of the maintenance corridors at port control – apparently, he was notorious for using them to bypass the crowds that tended to form during the lunch hour.

Paperwork was boring as hell, but I got better at it by discreetly skimming some of the easier bits that floated down to General Harding's office. Of course, given that I was the person who he entrusted with submitting his documents, he never noticed if there was a discrepancy between the amount of paperwork that he had completed and that which arrived at the fourth floor.

If you were wondering whether my sanity was gone after that brief discourse on paperwork, trust me when I say that there's no way to better know the ins and outs of an organization than by getting intimately familiar with paperwork.

So my plan for slowly improving myself was working out, it seemed. Or at least, the non-combative aspects of it were – my handling of firearms still left much to be desired, and Silas still resisted most of my attempts at training him properly.

While my commanding officer might have been nothing more than slightly amused by my apparent emulation of his speedy movements and increase in efficiency, it was Silas that seemed to realize something was amiss.

"Yes, Silas?" I asked the bivalve pokemon when it gave me a questioning look one day. "What's up?"

He flicked his tongue out and swatted the stack of forms that I was filling in and signing under General Harding's name (yes, his signature was considerably easy to forge), maintaining his curious expression all the while.

"It's paperwork, Silas. My job's to do it."

A sound that resembled a deflating balloon came from him as he withdrew his tongue and narrowed his eyes at me.

"Well, if he doesn't like to do it, I'll do it," I shook my head. "You do know I can't understand a word you're saying, right?"

Silas began issuing a series of whistles and squeaks that grew into what sounded like a mini-tirade of sorts. He was still going at it when I had finished my paperwork and hidden it in my backpack, and so I scooped him up in my arms and whisked him off to General Harding's office.

"General Harding, sir?" I knocked on the door – the week after our Underground jaunt had seen me accidentally getting flashed courtesy of him, General Fen, and General Maine having a round of strip poker during their lunch hour. "Are you there, sir?"

"Damn straight I am – where else would I be?" his voice said through the closed door. "Come on in, kid... Arceus knows why you're so afraid of just coming into my office, though."

"Alright, sir," I said as I opened the door and walked into his office, still holding the ranting shellder. "And for the record, being flashed isn't exactly my cup of tea."

"What about it?" he asked with a smirk. "What you have, I have – if you don't, then we might have some cause for panic."

I was once again caught off-guard by one of his whacky comments. "Sir!"

"I thought you would've become more accustomed to my... admittedly strange habits by now, but no matter," he shrugged. "So, what brings you here during lunch? You seem to vanish during lunch hour these days."

"Well, Silas is acting up today, and I don't know what he's saying," I replied, plopping the shellder onto his desk. "So I thought you could help me decipher his gibberish."

Upon hearing that, Silas shut up almost immediately. General Harding seemed to think about it for a moment – one thing we had both found out recently was that Silas seemed to actually hate him more than he hated me, which was saying something. "Well, he was muttering a lot, but I think it had something to do with you being a scheming bastard."

"Scheming bastard?" I blinked, as Silas clouted General Harding across the head with his tongue. "Silas!"

"Ah, it's cool," he laughed, reaching out and patting the shellder's back. "Thought I have to wonder... just what _have_ you been up to of late? You're spending quite a lot of time on your own, I think."

"Ah, just exploring port control," I lied, casting a dirty look at Silas' back. "I let him out of his pokeball so that we could spend the time together."

I had to duck to avoid Silas' tongue as he whipped about and tried to get me with it. "And by the looks of it, the bonding process isn't working out that well."

"Now he's calling you a liar," remarked General Harding, once Silas had issued a sharp little retort. "He says you've been squirreling paperwork away, of all things... wait, _what?_"

"Just some paperwork that I had to settle," I hurriedly said, fumbling about for Silas' pokeball. "That stuff is evil – do you think I'd do extra amounts of it?"

"True that," he nodded, as Silas was recalled into his pokeball with an angry squeak. "But just why is he so unsettled about it?"

"No idea, sir. Maybe I just happen to have a conspiracy theorist as my starter," I deadpanned.

"Possible," he mused. "For a moment there, he had me worried, though."

"Sir?" I felt a mild tingle running through my spine at his words. Did he suspect something?

"Well, you're a – hopefully – normal guy who isn't even twenty yet, and you spend your lunch hours alone with your shellder. I was wondering if you were a chronic masturbator or something like that."

"Sir!" I exclaimed, aghast. "I don't- I mean, I'm not- I don't masturbate _here!_"

He smirked and leaned back in his seat, propping his legs up on his desk. "And of course, there's the fact that your starter pokemon is actually the living proof that the vagina's design is not a uniquely human feature."

"... I am not going to comment on _that,_ sir."

"Ah, I was just fucking with you!" He cackled, as I felt my face flushing. "I'm sure that you restrict your... live-fire exercises to the hostel. Just make sure you don't end up repainting the place, yea?"

"_Sir!_" I all but shrieked, sending him into a fit of crazed laughter.

"Speaking of firing exercises, we still need to improve your marksmanship. You're improving, but it could still better," he noted, glancing at his calendar. "So it'll be every day next week, and then two days a week after that."

"As you say, sir," I said, almost feeling dizzy with relief. Thank the gods that _that_ conversation was over.

xxx

"Good shot!" General Harding cheered as I fired at the target for the umpteenth time that morning. The shot had missed the centre, but I had managed to anticipate some of the pistol's recoil this time around, and it had hit the ring directly around the target.

Well, it was still an improvement considering that I had actually missed the entire target before, and very nearly killed someone by accident back at the Mount Coronet base.

"If you keep practicing and improving at this rate, you'll be a decent marksman in no time at all," he said, even as he fired at his own target. "But of course, you'd need to work on training Silas, too – no point being a great marksman if your pokemon is under-trained."

"We're working on it, sir," I said, after his shot found its mark at the centre of the target. "He just picked up another move last week."

"Ah, yes," he nodded with a smile. "What move was it again?"

"Icicle Spear, I think," I replied with a small frown. "But Babamon said that he would have learned it before Aurora Beam..."

"Those experience-move correlations are merely guidelines, kid," he said, as he reloaded his pistol. "They just suggest the moves which are easier for a pokemon to learn based on its experience. So maybe Silas just found it harder to learn Icicle Spear."

"If it's that move to begin with, sir. It could have been Ice Shard," I shrugged, as I took aim at my own target once again.

"Did he fire a single icicle really fast, or slower but with multiple pieces?" he asked. "Ice Shard usually only involves one icicle fired at extremely fast velocities."

I considered the question as I fired, nicking the centre of the target. "Damn, that was my last shot... Multiple icicles, sir – all very small and fast, though."

"Icicle Spear it is, then," he nodded. "Shellder produce smaller icicles than cloyster, so they move faster. So I guess only the number of icicles is the giveaway here."

"Ah, that makes sense... Thanks, sir."

"And we're done!" He declared, as he fired his last shot, obliterating the target's centre. "Come on, kid – time to clean up, and then we'll take a look at just what is this mysterious move that Silas has learned."

xxx

As it turned out, the move Silas had learned was Icicle Spear. It also turned out that he was only too happy to be asked to demonstrate it – on us.

"Roll, kid!"

"Sir, _behind you!_"

We ended up dodging razor-sharp icicles for a good fifteen minutes as my starter had a field day trying to skewer us with the projectiles, cackling happily all the while. Eventually, the training area turned into a veritable labyrinth of icicles that had lodged themselves in the ground, making it much harder for us to evade Silas' attacks.

If you were wondering just why I hadn't returned Silas yet, it was simply because he had knocked his pokeball out of my hand with a well-aimed shot. The pokeball was presently frozen to the floor in a block of ice, courtesy of one of his Aurora Beams.

"Sir, don't you have any pokemon that could... you know?" I asked through gritted teeth as I nearly got impaled on yet another icicle.

"Let me think!" He snapped in response, temporarily safe from my shellder's assault. "Ah, got it!"

A pokeball exploded open, releasing an empoleon. The metal-skinned penguin pokemon landed heavily on the icicles, shattering them under its weight. Issuing a throaty squawk, it swept out with its steely wings and hacked even more icicles into masses of crushed ice. This drew Silas' attention, and his eyes widened upon catching sight of the fully-evolved pokemon that was glowering at him from across the room.

"Alright, Darren – get the shellder's pokeball!" General Harding called out, even as Silas shut his shell with a frightened squeak.

The empoleon casually hacked his way through the icicles and retrieved the pokeball, shattering the ice that encased it with one clawed foot. On his way back to General Harding's side, he gave Silas a disdainful look and kicked him over onto his back.

"Good job, Darren," said General Harding, panting a little as he recalled the empoleon. "Now, how could I have forgotten that? Lala did the exact same thing to me when he learned Icicle Spear."

"_What?_" I stared at him out of disbelief. "How could you forget something like _this?_"

"Well, when you've done as much crazy shit as I have..." He murmured sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "And the training area's thrashed – again. Management's going to have my head for this, that's for sure."

I looked about the room, and saw that he was right. The training area was now half-soaked thanks to the melting icicles, and the training mat in the centre of the room was little more than a sodden, shredded mess thanks to Silas' enthusiasm. Over on our side of the room, the control panel for the force field that normally enclosed the training zone sparked and fizzled courtesy of Silas firing an icicle at it (and subsequently hitting his target.)

"We're screwed," noted General Harding, and all I could do was nod in agreement.

xxx

They say time flies when one is having fun. Personally, I found myself believing that time flew when I was busy scheming.

Or maybe it would have been more accurate to say that time went by in a flash when I was hard at work trying to make my grand little scheme become a reality.

Hours spent covertly practicing my marksmanship, doing paperwork, and trying to train Silas ('trying' being the operative word here) eventually blended into days, and those days into weeks. I gradually began losing track of time's progression as I fucked my body clock into oblivion, trying to do too many things during too few hours. Exhaustion bore down on me as I began sleeping less and exercising more, trying to whip myself into some semblance of a physically fit form.

I had always been a thin person. As in, five pounds underweight thin. However, I finally began seeing some changes in my body as I pushed myself close to my limits trying to get better at... well, I don't know just what I was supposed to be getting better at, frankly. All I know was that one day, I woke up and noticed that I had abs, along with some additional muscle tone that definitely hadn't been present when I registered myself at port control.

Hey, the military might have had basic physical fitness training, but it definitely wasn't intended to spit out a gang of bodybuilders, alright?

So everything was going alright, except for my relationship with Silas.

He suspected that I was up to something, and so resisted my attempts at bonding with him. Whenever I tried to talk to him, he would clam up and ignore me resolutely. It came to a point whereby General Harding got suspicious, which was _not_ a good thing, as you could probably imagine.

"Just what did you do to him?" he asked me, shaking his head. "I've never seen shellder being so quiet over something."

"I have no idea, sir," I muttered, brushing my bangs out of my eyes – my hair had started to grow a little shaggy since I began neglecting its welfare.

A sound came from my shellder, and I knew from experience what it meant.

_Liar._

xxx

Getting better at stuff wasn't the only thing that changed during those few weeks after I came up with my little plot of sorts. I began noticing more things about the people around me in port control, and soon enough, I was familiar with their little quirks and habits.

Mary the receptionist could not be separated from her coffee before the workday began, and attempting to do so was a crime that merited being kicked in the balls.

Babamon smoked Marlboros and Malboros only. To even suggest that she switch brands was nothing short of blasphemy of the highest order.

General Fen Siow Loong might require spectacles to see clearly, but he notices even if his desk isn't exactly the way he left it (I'm not kidding when I say that he notices the _page numbers_ of books that he leaves open on his desk).

Claire Williams was male, and those who mistook him for a woman usually ended up being stomped into the ground by him or his team – the latter if he was in a good mood, though his whiscash was surprisingly hard-hitting for its size.

Kylie Reardon did not earn her general's rank by sleeping with General Claire Williams, and the last person to have suggested that was still recuperating in hospital after being Thunder Waved one time too many. However, the two of them did not deny that they were in a relationship at present.

The people working in the paperwork department up on the floor above us seemed to have an unnatural hatred for my boss.

Of the two generals that my boss tended to hang out with, Gary Maine was just a little touchier when it came to defending his high scores at video games compared to Fen Siow Loong (surprising, given the latter's obsession with neatness and order).

NEVER complain about bad food in the mess hall – the cooks have good memories and tend to harbour grudges.

Those with upset stomachs would be advised to use the third cubicle in the men's room if possible – it was the only one which consistently worked on the third floor.

You could actually bribe the people down at the supplies room into giving you extra stationery by giving them candy.

Adrienne the slowbro might have had a vacant stare, but she was actually a decent source of stimulating conversation for those who had the time to chat with her. She also acted as my boss' makeshift mother, and made sure that he got enough coffee in the mornings to stay awake.

And then of course there was my boss, General Zachary Harding – arguably the greatest puzzle of the lot.

He was always on time for work, but wound up sleeping a lot in his office. He was _horrible_ with paperwork (come to think of it that was probably why the paperwork people loathed him so). He was not shy about going about in his underwear. He tended to burst into song at random moments.

Thank goodness the view when he went about in his underwear was much better than his singing. Then again, if his singing was as good as his physical shape, I figured that he'd have been a singer.

Wait, you can forget that I said that about my boss.

Despite his apparent lack of regard for his work, he did seem to derive a great deal of enjoyment from it (barring the paperwork, of course). His pokemon were all friendly ones, except for his tentacruel, which seemed to despise me. Whenever he went down to the docks or the Underground, everyone seemed to know him and appreciate his presence. From his interactions with the likes of Kirrin the mechanic and Dolph the mob boss, he appeared to be a decent guy all around.

As I lay on my bed with Silas snoozing on my chest, I almost felt some pity for him when I recalled him mentioning that he had family problems. Like he had said – I was someone who appreciated how difficult family issues could get.

However, I was silently waiting for the day when he would take his leave of Canalave, due to the fact that he was one of those in on the corruption that plagued the place. Nonetheless, I couldn't help but feel a little uneasy whenever I thought about him leaving. I had no idea why I felt that way, and part of me insisted that I didn't want to know.

Everything was getting _so_ confusing – maybe I needed some sleep.

I closed my eyes, and slipped into a dreamscape filled with shadows and lingering uncertainty.

xxx

"Are you ready? Adrienne's going to get here any moment now," General Harding asked, as he picked up the little duffle bag he had packed for our trip to Snowpoint. "We won't have time to come back here for anything you might have forgotten."

I nodded as I zipped up my parka. "Got it, sir – everything's here."

Almost on cue, the office door swung open and Adrienne stepped into the room, shouldering a little backpack of her own. According to General Harding, it contained some stuff that he was worried about misplacing – apparently, he didn't trust his own memory.

"_Are we ready, everyone?_" Adrienne asked, with her usual blank expression. "_Shall we get going?_"

"Take us there, Adrienne."

"_Hold my paws, please._"

We each took one of her paws in our hands, and the world around us blurred into a dazzling mess of colours and sounds that constantly shifted. However, almost as soon it happened, it stopped, and we found ourselves standing in the midst of s snowstorm.

"Adrienne, you missed it!" General Harding had to shout to make his voice heard over the roar of the storm. "This isn't Snowpoint!"

"_Since the digimon opened that portal at the Spear Pillar, Teleportation has always been screwed up!_" She said calmly, flicking her gaze in random directions. "_Don't worry, I've contacted the Snowpoint sentries – they're on their way to us now._"

Thankfully, we had already been in our snow gear when we Teleported to Snowpoint – or rather, wherever we had ended up that was supposed to be Snowpoint. Even through the parka's insulating layers, I could feel the cold bite of the snowstorm as it raged around us. Left with nothing better to do but wait, I began rubbing my gloved hands together to keep them warm, marvelling at how my breath formed a mist as I exhaled. General Harding and Adrienne didn't seem to be bothered, though – he looked perfectly comfortable where he stood, and her thick skin probably kept her warm enough for the time being.

"Sorry about that, kid," my boss shook his head. "Adrienne's right, though – that portal's disrupting psychic moves all over Sinnoh. So I guess we'll have to wait for the sentries."

"How will they find us?" I shouted into his ear.

"Eh? I guess Lorelei will send a jynx out to track us or something. But they'll get here soon, have no fear."

"_I see lights,_" Adrienne deadpanned, pointing over his shoulder with a stubby paw.

We turned as one to look in the direction she had indicated, and true enough, two faint pinpricks of light were just visible in the distance, and were growing clearer by the second. Once they came within fifty feet of us, I saw that they were none other than the headlamps of a snowmobile. The large vehicle gradually came to a stop twenty feet away from where we were standing and its door popped open like an overripe bean pod.

A short, blue-skinned creature – I think it was a digimon of some sort – in a fur-like outfit stepped out of the snowmobile, and waved at us with what resembled a club. A mass of bushy hair stuck itself out of the open door, and parted to reveal a jynx's purple face.

"_General Harding? Do hop on,_" the ice-type spoke up telepathically. "_The snowstorm's not getting any milder, and we're in abomasnow territory._"

"Good to see you! Was wondering when you'd get here," he shouted back, as we plodded through the thick snow towards the vehicle. "Portal disrupted our Teleportation!"

The jynx merely shook its head, sending its long hair whipping about in all directions. "_It can't be helped – with a psychic focus like that, such disruptions are expected. Come on, we haven't got all day!_"

General Harding recalled Adrienne, as we made it to the snowmobile's side. We climbed into the snowmobile, and the blue-skinned digimon hopped in after us, shutting the door. It revved the vehicle's engine, and slowly brought us about to head back in the direction they had come from. With the doors closed, it was significantly quieter, though the snowstorm's sheer fury kept a minor racket going on as it buffeted the snowmobile. The vehicle's interior was only slightly warmed, giving me the impression that most Snowpoint personnel remained in their cold outfits most of the time.

General Harding spoke to the jynx, "You mentioned that we were in abomasnow territory? I thought they got driven away by the installation?"

"_They've been coming closer with every season that passes,_" the jynx shrugged. "_We aren't that worried about them, though – they'll serve as natural security for the installation, and we've got enough firepower to keep them away if need be._"

"Ah, I see... How would you guys fend them off? Angry abomasnow aren't to be trifled with."

"_Well, we've got the usual weaponry... Lorelei might have an affinity for ice, but she keeps several fire-types around. Some keep us warm if the power fails, and the others patrol the perimeter fences – we keep them on rotation so that all of them stay in the fighting prime,_" it squinted out through the windscreen, trying to see through the storm. "_Ah, we're coming up to the installation._"

I leaned forward and tried to see the place for myself, but couldn't see through the hail. It was only then that I remembered how certain pokemon could remain unaffected by environmental changes that suited their element. Nevertheless, I kept looking over the driver digimon's shoulder until it got fed-up and batted my head with its club, knocking me back into my seat.

I nudged General Harding. "Just what is that digimon, anyway? Never seen or heard of one like it before."

It was the jynx that answered, "_He's a snowgoburimon. We employ them up here since they thrive in this climate, and because they've got opposable thumbs._"

"What about... hyogamon, was it? They have opposable thumbs, too."

"_We do have several here, but they're very foul-tempered._"

With a hiss of static, the speakers mounted on the snowmobile's dashboard came to life, cutting-off any further discussion between us.

"Landkiller One," crackled a voice from the other end of the line, "is that you?"

Our snowgoburimon driver grunted a reply into a microphone mounted near his rear-view mirror.

"Affirmative – proceed to the east gate."

The jynx frowned. "_Why are you directing us to the east gate?_"

After a brief pause, we got a reply.

"Lorelei's orders – there was an attack on the main entrance."

"An attack?" General Harding asked sharply as he sat up straighter and his hand dropped to his pokeball belt. "What kind?"

"Ah, my bad," said the speaker. "I should have been more specific – we had several ursaring trying to force their way in. Took a while to take them out, and now we've got a little bit of cleaning up to do."

"Ah, you had me scared for a moment there," he sighed, leaning back and relaxing a little. "Oh, we're here!"

Abruptly, the snowstorm stopped raging around us. I looked out of the snowmobile, and saw that the storm apparently could not come within fifty feet of the installation's perimeter fence – whether it was a force field or team of pokemon that kept the snow out was anyone's guess. Even the ground was free of snow once we had crossed the invisible boundary, though the temperature remained low.

Our vehicle made its way towards a massive gate which several people, pokemon, and digimon were standing in front of, slowing down gradually. True to the jynx's word, the little group of pokemon included several fire-types such as ninetales and quilava. Eventually, we came to a stop not ten feet from them, and a tall man in a parka made his way towards us.

"General Harding and assistant?" he asked our driver, once the door was open. "Here for an affinity consultation?"

"That's us."

"ID's?" the man held out his hand, even as a piloswine shuffled over and began watching us, its breath forming little patches of ice on the ground. We handed over our identification cards, and he ran them through a small scanner that he fished out of his parka's pocket. After a few seconds, it beeped, and a green diode lit-up on its side.

He handed back our ID's with a small smile. "Welcome to Snowpoint! Just follow me, and I'll get you settled in."

As we disembarked, I turned to General Harding. "How long would be staying here, again?"

"About three days," he replied. "Since we've come all the way here, I'll be checking on the partial water-types Lorelei has here, so you'll have some time to explore the areas that aren't kept locked up."

We walked up to the gate, and a digimon resembling a bear made entirely out of snow cocked its head to one side. "Checked them?"

"Of course," nodded the man. "You can open it up, frigimon."

The frigimon turned around and trudged towards a control panel built into the gate. It pressed its cold hands against the panel, and the gate slowly slid open sideways. Through the opening, I could see the dense cluster of buildings that had once been Snowpoint City. At one side of the installation, the Snowpoint Temple was still visible, towering over the laboratory complex, whereas the other featured a spindly, delicate-looking satellite dish array that was probably the installation's means of communicating with the outside world.

When the gate finally opened all the way, the frigimon stepped aside, and we took our first steps into Snowpoint.


	11. Chills

**Chapter 10 – Chills**

Walking towards the actual cluster of buildings that made up the Snowpoint military research laboratories was somehow intimidating in itself. I mean, it was probably the biggest open secret out there that Sinnoh's government did all of its chemical and biological weapons research in there. So when I felt a tingle running down my spine halfway to the laboratories' side entrance, I was only slightly comforted when General Harding informed me that it was probably just my nerves – we hadn't reached the security energy fields yet.

The laboratory complex itself was built very low to the ground, and resembled a bunker more than anything else. However, lights could be seen through the numerous barred windows that faced us, and people were visibly moving about in the squat little buildings. From what General Harding had told me about the place, the laboratories were not actually above the surface; anything above the ground was considered as non-hazardous, and the real serious research projects were all kept fifty feet beneath the installation.

"Get ready for that Valsalva manoeuvre, kid!" General Harding said, as we stepped up to a set of glass sliding doors.

"What?" I asked, confused, even as I stepped through the door and felt my ears pop. Oh, so he meant _that_ manoeuvre. A quick exhalation while I pinched my nose shut did the trick, and I turned to him for an explanation.

He merely smirked as he shifted his duffel bag to his left shoulder. "They keep the air pressure in here lower than it is outside, so your ears will definitely pop on entry."

"Why would they do that, sir?"

"Well... I think it was something to do with germs and chemicals..." he scratched his head with a sheepish expression on his face. "Something about how air would flow in if there's a leak, but mehhh, I hate physics! Ask Lorelei when you see her."

"Oh, I think I got it, sir," I perked up a little upon recalling some of my high school physics. "Pressure in here's lower than the outside, right?"

"Yup," he nodded.

"So air would flow in from the region of higher pressure, like you said," I paused for a moment before continuing, "and so if they had bacteria on the loose in here, the air currents would keep them in until the breach is sealed."

He turned to stare at me with a raised eyebrow, "Holy shit."

"Sir?" I asked, fidgeting a little under his gaze. "Are you alright? Did I say something wrong?"

"Nah... It's just that," he smirked once again, "you got it right, hah! Looks like you're a little smarter than your boss, kid!"

"It's nothing, sir-"

"Whatever," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Lunchtime has come, I see! So let's grab a bite at the cafeteria!"

I squinted at him. "Sir, do you even know where it is?"

"No idea, but that's what getting lost is for!" he cheerfully replied, stalking off down a random corridor.

I sighed, and began following him as he took an abrupt right-turn and vanished down a corridor with a 'NO ENTRANCE' sign pasted next to it.

xxx

After nearly an hour of getting lost, we finally sat down to have lunch – yes, we did end up getting hopelessly lost in the maze of corridors that was the installation. More than once, we found ourselves being chased out of a dead-ended corridor by irate personnel in laboratory coats, and in one case, a furious snover actually fired Leech Seeds at us.

Eventually, a kindly old chemist took us to the cafeteria after seeing us getting cornered against a wall by an angry hyogamon. Well, it helped that General Harding had let out Adrienne, who was perfectly capable of using Flamethrower, as he assured me.

"So, kid," he spoke with his mouth full of bread, "what do you think of the place?"

"It's... nice," I shrugged, taking a bite of my own sandwich. "Where's Lorelei, though?"

"We'll find our way to her once we're done with lunch – it's the most important meal of the day!"

"... I thought that was breakfast, sir."

"Food is important, kid!" he smirked at me. "You can definitely trust me when I tell you that I know how it feels like to be hungry, thanks to my trainer days."

That caught my curiosity, "How so, sir?"

"Well..." he looked sheepish as he answered the question. "Food wasn't always in abundance out on the old training routes, and I'm not exactly the greatest cook out there. You can ask Gary or Adrienne – we ended up eating lots of burnt food whenever I cooked."

"Oh," I shifted in my seat. "So how did you resolve that problem?"

"I learned to cook better, for one," he laughed. "And I eventually found myself two travelling partners – Fen Siow Loong and Gary Maine."

"Generals Fen and Maine?" I asked, slightly goggle-eyed. "So that's how you three ended up becoming such good friends!"

"Too true – Gary was good at handling those punks that tended to bully new trainers, and Fen was a handy backwoodsman all-around," he smiled dreamily as he spoke – clearly those days were times that he looked back on with fondness. "I was more of a tag-along, really. But then again, I was the only one among us who actually made it to challenge Steven; Fen could never get past Drake, and Gary was walled by Glacia."

"So sir," I asked, as I crumpled up my sandwich's wrapper, "why did all of you come to Sinnoh?"

"For me, it was coming home in a way," he answered. "Fen wanted a change of scenery, and Gary... Well, he's a free spirit that enjoys going to see new places. In fact, when he couldn't beat Glacia after his third attempt, he continued travelling. I think of the three of us, he was the first to see Johto and Kanto."

I glanced at the plain-faced clock that hung above the serving counters. It showed that the time was presently fifteen minutes past one, which probably had us within the installation's lunch hour. And yet somehow the cafeteria remained considerably empty – it was as though everyone had forgotten about lunch or something.

"Umm, sir?"

"Eh?"

"Where is everyone? Shouldn't it be lunch now?"

He looked around, and jumped a little upon noticing the lack of people around us. "You're right, I think. Damn – the nerds are at it again."

"The nerds?" I asked pointedly.

He chuckled, "The last time I came here, I asked Lorelei that exact same question. As it turns out, most of the laboratory personnel tend to forget about conventional mealtimes. Hell, they even tend to mess up their perceptions of day and night – they just work and work and they'll sleep whenever they're sleepy. Same goes for food, I guess."

"Damn," I whistled, "that sounds pretty crazy."

"You bet your ass it is – we get the most reports of chronically overworked personnel from this installation."

Just as he had finished speaking, the cafeteria doors slammed open with a terrific bang, and everyone turned to look at the person who had just barged in. However, there was no one standing in the doorway, or even the corridor beyond it. We all turned back to our tables, and resumed whatever it was we had been doing.

"Sir, what-"

"There you are!"

A bossy female voice cut me off, and made us both jump a little. We turned as one to look in the direction of the voice, only to see a bespectacled woman in a robe-like outfit stalking down the corridor towards us. A jynx was shuffling along behind her, and several files were hovering in the air behind it like a streamer of paperwork that soon caught up with it when it stopped. She eventually made it to our table, and glared at General Harding.

"Lorelei," he called out, seemingly oblivious to her furious facial expression. "Nice to see you again-"

"You're late, Harding!" she snapped, tapping the face of her wristwatch. "Five minutes, to be precise! Now, explain yourself!"

"That portal over on Coronet-"

"That _fucking_ portal," she threw her hands up in the air, "can go suck _shit!_ It's messing up all the physicists' readings, and also our supplies! Did you know that we lost an entire shipment of weapons last week?"

He gaped at her. "Say what?"

"We lost an entire crate of prototype firearms last week," she grumbled, as she spun about on her heel and gestured at us to follow her. "They were being teleported out, but the kadabra never did reach his destination... Arceus knows where he ended up with those guns. And now, I have some problems involving one of the bloody physicists – he managed to cut a hole through the wall using a laser of some sort."

With that, she began marching down the corridor using a speed comparable to General Harding's when he was zooming through port control. We had to break into a run to keep up with her, and soon enough, we had lost sight of her. Thankfully, her jynx's little paper trail allowed us to follow in her footsteps through the labyrinth of metal-walled corridors. Finally, we came to a stop in front of her office door, which a blank requisition form was slipping under.

I'll admit that I was a little slower in trailing her than I was when I usually followed General Harding. Maybe it was because, well, she was Lorelei! One of the few surviving members of the Elite Four! Some might have branded them as traitors to the human race for choosing to side with the digimon, but I honestly wasn't too bothered about those accusations – I suspect I would've done the same if given the choice of defection or death.

"Come on, kid," my boss shrugged as he shoved the door open. "Let's take a look at how things are here, eh? Looks like she might be a little busy for an affinity consultation today..."

"_Who's_ too busy for an affinity consultation?" Lorelei snapped, looking up from her paperwork-laden desk. "I do not need you to tell me if I'm free or not, Zachary Harding!"

"Apologies, milady," he retorted, while giving her a mock bow. "Maybe I'll head to the pokemon tanks?"

"Do whatever you want and go wherever the fuck you want to – just close the door on the way out. And if I hear that you've caused any disturbances around my installation, I'll have your guts for dinner."

He left her office, and I made as if to follow, but Lorelei called out to me.

"Not _you,_ sweetie – lock the door and get over here," she said, sweeping up most of the paperwork and dumping it into her 'In' tray with one smooth motion. "Now that Zachary's finally out of here, we can get this done with."

"If you say so, ma'am," I nodded, stepping up to her desk and unclipping Silas' pokeball from my belt. "Should I?"

"First things first," she replied, shaking her head. "We need to talk, so take a seat."

Well that was unexpected. Awkwardly, I clipped the pokeball to my belt and sat down in front of her desk, on a wooden chair that had most definitely known some better days. It was then that I realized that up till that point in time, I had yet to actually notice any defining facial features on her.

Her skin was pale – almost translucent, really – and her cheekbones were very prominent. Frosted spectacle lenses prevented me from seeing her eyes, and also left me wondering just how she actually saw anything at all. Her blue hair was tied into a loose ponytail that hung down over her back, and several loose strands hung loose on both sides of her face. The robe-like outfit she was dressed in clearly was thicker than it appeared to be, since if had no visible creases or folds.

"So, tell me... What do you know about Zachary Harding?" she asked, clasping her hands together on her desk. "You've been under him for about five months now, so you ought to know at least a little bit about him, I think."

"Umm, he's my immediate commanding officer?" I fumbled with my answer. "He's extremely hyperactive, enjoys greeting people by attacking them-"

"I meant aside from the obvious, thank you very much. Any idiot down at that circus Canalave calls port control can see that."

I hesitated for a moment. "Well, he was a contender for the 2082 Hoenn League Championships – one of the few contenders who actually type-specialized all the way. He is also involved in many departments at port control, including some... field work."

"If by 'field work' you mean he gets sent to the Underground, do go on – that's nothing new for me," she sighed. "Tell me, do you actually know anything personal about him?"

"Umm, I don't know much else about him, ma'am," I said, shaking my head. "Come to think of it, he doesn't talk much about himself."

"Hmm," she nodded with a thoughtful expression on her face, as she took her glasses off. She proceeded to wipe them with her sleeve, and I realized that the frosting on the lenses had actually been due to condensation. "To be frank, that's not unexpected – he's one of the most secretive officers we have on the continent. Have you ever heard of his previous assistant?"

"Tammy, right?" Babamon had mentioned her once or twice, but otherwise, no one had said anything about her. "She was the last assistant he had with a water dominant affinity?"

"Yes, Tammy Silvas was his assistant, and she had a water dominant affinity," she replied, frowning a little. "Anything else you know about her?"

"Nothing else, ma'am."

"She was a promising young soldier, and was tested for a water affinity after she nearly died during a desert training exercise," Lorelei said matter-of-factly. "Apparently, she became dehydrated extremely fast – one of the signs of a rather advanced water affinity."

"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but how could that be a reliable sign?" I asked. "Maybe she missed breakfast or something?"

"Boy, she became dehydrated mere _minutes_ after being sent into the desert. Upon further testing, it was found that she was one of the water dominants," she replied, shaking her head. "As Sootopolis and Cerulean City already had their water departments fully occupied, she was deployed to Canalave as Zachary Harding's assistant. She was given a tentacool as her starter, and started work within two days of her arrival."

Lorelei looked me in the eye as she continued speaking, "And then she died."

"How did she die, ma'am?" I asked apprehensively – I did not like where her train of thought seemed to be heading.

"Her tentacool stung her to death, it seems," Lorelei said evenly. "And that would have been the end of it, save for the fact that Esther Maxwell is a close friend of mine."

"You mean Dr. Esther?"

"Indeed I do – she contacted me and offered me samples of the tentacool's venom for the biological weapons department, since it usually is too mild to kill. Obviously, the tentacool Tammy had been assigned was capable of producing a more potent venom than most members of its species – rare, but hardly unheard of."

"And then, just before Esther could ask Zachary Harding for access to the tentacool, she finds out that it had been killed."

By then, I was pretty confused. So the girl had been killed by her tentacool, and the tentacool had been killed afterwards. "I'll take it that the circumstances of the tentacool's death were suspect?"

"Correct," Lorelei offered me a thin smile. "Looks you do have some brains, after all. The tentacool died due to poisoning with its own venom, for your information."

"Excuse me?" I asked in disbelief. "Could you repeat that?"

"Tell me," she sighed, "how much do you know about a tentacool's physiology?"

"Not much, really..."

"Well, they aren't actually that similar to normal jellyfish in the sense that they don't actually produce their own venom – the venom is produced by symbiotic bacteria that inhabit their tentacles. If the bacterial population suddenly explodes for some reason, the tentacool's venom will become highly potent, and might even affect the pokemon's health. Apparently, Tammy's tentacool died thanks to its own toxicity," she paused for a moment. "Are you following me?"

"So you're saying anomalous bacterial growth killed it? But that goes along with her probable cause of death, doesn't it?"

Lorelei fixed her cold gaze on me. "It does, but the post-mortem on the tentacool revealed normal toxicity levels."

I stared at her once I had digested her words. So it seemed that General Harding's former assistant had been killed by her started – quite a notorious species, for the record – which in turn had been killed by its own excessively potent venom. But the post-mortem had revealed normal toxicity... "Could the venom's potency have been affected by the tentacool's death?"

Lorelei shook her head, "No, which is why the case is so suspicious. Well that, and the fact that Zachary Harding has a tentacruel."

Upon hearing that, I felt a slight spike of an emotion running through me – whether it was fear or excitement, I could not tell. "Are you suggesting that he killed her?"

"I am suggesting no such thing," she scoffed. "I am merely trying to warn you about the uncertainties that surrounded that case. Like you said, he has not revealed much about himself to others. Tentacruel are too common for his to be suspected outright, and she was found dead near the docks, anyway."

"Zachary Harding may... have his quirks, but he's a good man," she said, after a moment's hesitation. "He knows what he's doing, and you'd be hard-pressed to find members of the old-guard that are sympathetic to our cause. But then again, it is for that very reason that I suspect he's become a target."

"For who, may I ask?" I was bewildered.

Lorelei lowered her voice. "Not all of his former peers from the league days are that forgiving when it comes to him being in the military. In fact, the reason why he gets sent to the Underground so often is because they keep tabs on the training population – which is where I suspect the murderer is in hiding."

She leaned forward, and fixed her frosty gaze on me. "Be very careful with your safety, boy. Tread carefully around Zachary Harding, since I suspect that someone out there has it in for him"

Part of me was relieved that she hadn't named him as the murder suspect, but the other parts of me were still reeling from the shock of finding out that General Harding's previous assistant had died under such questionable circumstances. I didn't know what to say, and was mercifully spared from having to give her an answer when someone began thumping her office door loudly.

"Lorelei?" General Harding's voice came through the door. "Just what are you doing to my assistant in there? Kid, she isn't molesting you, is she?"

"Nothing of the sort," she retorted. "Go and open the door, let that oaf you call your boss in."

Nodding mutely, I got up and unlocked the door. General Harding practically bounded into the office... and was quite literally dripping wet. Lorelei stared at him, lips drawn into a thin line.

"Is there some logical reason why you're soaked, Zachary?"

"Lala was a little too happy to see me, I guess," he grinned. "And apparently, your lapras' son enjoys humping people's legs."

"Yes, my dear little Crusoe has shown a tendency to do that. However, I do think it's Kingsley's fault for introducing him to that dratted lillipup," Lorelei sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Now get out of my sight and get yourself dried up. I don't need a pneumonia case up here, especially not right now with my present workload."

"I live to serve, mistress," he replied with a sweet smile. "Anything else I might be of service in? Shine your shoes, get you dinner, kiss your arse?"

"_Just get the hell out of my office,_" she snarled, as she snapped the pencil she had just picked up.

"Come on, kiddo! It looks like we've managed to piss her off enough for today!" General Harding smirked.

"But sir, Silas-"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" With a flash of light, a froslass materialized in front of us. "Lassie, get them!"

"Holy fuck!" cursed my commanding officer, ducking as the icy ghost sent an Ice Beam his way. "We'd better run, kid!"

"Sir, tell me... why do you do this to us?"

"Life's too short to not have some fun, kid!" he happily declared, even as he evaded a Shadow Ball that exploded into an inky black mess on the wall. "And it's going to be a lot shorter if we don't get out of here fast!"

And that was how we ended up running through the corridors of Snowpoint laboratory, with an angry froslass hot on our heels.


	12. Matched

**Chapter 11 – Matched**

"Alright, let's have it. Release the shellder."

With a flash of light, Silas materialized on the floor in front of Lorelei. His shell was shut – as usual – though he did open it up just a little to peek out. Upon catching sight of her, however, he opened up a little more and stuck out his tongue curiously. Apparently, he could sense that something was different about this particular human.

We were at the water tanks where most of Snowpoint's water pokemon population resided. Granted, some aquatic digimon also spent a large portion of their time in the tanks, but for the most part, pokemon dominated the scene there. Most of the smaller pokemon gathered near the edge of the tank, eyeing us out of curiosity. Word must have gotten out that a shellder was present, because within mere moments a cloyster had hauled itself up to the edge of the tank to get a good look at its genetic relative.

General Harding had gone over to the edge of the tank, and had started an animated conversation with the cloyster – I presumed that it was his Lala. Several spheal happily nuzzled him, and I got the impression that he might have been previously acquainted with them also.

Lorelei gave Silas a brief once-over, and turned to face me. "Now, shellder are actually a single-typed water pokemon, and only manifest their ice typing when they evolve. But usually, we can check if the affinity is matched for ice even before they do so."

"If you say so," I nodded. "So... is there a good match?"

"Talk to him."

"Umm, how?" I asked dumbly, scratching my head. That was a problem indeed, given the current... state of affairs between the two of us.

"Just ask him questions or whatever – I need to see some interaction between you two," she shook her head. "Bah, I almost forgot to let Nana out."

"Nana?" both Silas and I turned to look at the pokemon she had just released, which turned out to be a jynx.

"_Ah, the affinity consultation,_" the psychic pokemon commented, as its hair was whipped around by an intangible breeze – or maybe it was her psychic powers. "_Has it begun?_"

Lorelei smirked, "He'll have to talk to the shellder first."

"_A shy one, I take it?_"

"More like clueless."

I stared at Silas, unsure of what to say to him. He wasn't even looking at me, and had instead turned to look at the water tanks with his back to me.

"Silas?"

No response was forthcoming from him, but Lorelei and Nana began exchanging whispers. Feeling even more lost and clueless than I had been when I first spoke to him, I decided to give it another try.

And much like the shellder chowder incident, the second attempt was the one where I got physical with Silas.

"Alright, let's have some guy talk," I huffed, stepping up to him and lifting him off the floor. He let out a disgruntled squeak, and nearly slapped me across the face with his tongue. By the time I evaded the offending appendage, he was already withdrawing it and shutting up... as usual. "I know you can hear me in there, so I'm going to get to the point – do you want a repeat of the soup incident?"

His shell opened slightly and he let out an angry chirp.

Lorelei threw her head back and laughed uproariously upon hearing what Silas had said. "Oh, my goodness – _you're_ the new trainer who tried to boil his shellder?"

"Umm, well- I-" I stuttered, blushing furiously.

"Well, it's no wonder that he harbours such... lovely feelings towards you," she giggled. "But then again, the natural bond we have here... what do you think, Nana?"

The jynx cocked her head to one side. "_It is... an unusual bond indeed. Despite your apparent mutual animosity, it is clearly a strong bond in its own way._"

I shook my head. "That doesn't make any sense."

A soft whistle was heard, and I got a feeling that Silas was actually agreeing with what I said for once.

"_Your water affinity matched you to him as a shellder,_" Nana said softly. "_Most ice types and their basic forms have a certain personality – that was what perfected the match._"

"So you're saying that there are compatible personalities between the two of us?" I deadpanned. "I highly doubt that."

"You'll just need to work on your bond with the shellder, boy," Lorelei shrugged, after regaining her composure. "Think of it – he hasn't poisoned you, so it's obvious that he's giving things a chance."

"Wait, _what?_" I gawked at her. "Since when have shellder been poisonous?"

Silas blew a raspberry, eliciting yet another laugh from Lorelei, "He says that you're as dense as a slakoth if you didn't know that shellder could secrete venom. And before you ask, yes, they _can_ learn Toxic."

"Well, bummer!" I was dumbfounded. So my starter could have killed me in my sleep, it seemed – but he hadn't. "So, Silas... just who's the scheming bastard now?"

He actually turned to glare at me, and spat a gob of purple fluid at my feet.

"... so you know Toxic, I take it."

By then, General Harding had finished his little conversation with the cloyster, and had come over to see just what was going on. Upon seeing Silas demonstrating his little venom-spitting act, he grinned.

"Ah, a little precocious, this one is. Lorelei, could you ask him how he learned Toxic? Babamon usually doesn't teach them TM moves."

"Ask him yourself," she replied with a huff. "What do you think I am; some kind of translator?"

"Dear, if there are two people whom that shellder hates, it's me and his trainer. He won't be answering any of my questions anytime soon, unless he thinks it'll get his trainer in trouble," he smirked. "Though the reason why he hates _me_ is still up for grabs, though."

"So, shellder-"

"Silas," I interrupted her with a frown. "His name is Silas."

Lorelei raised an eyebrow. "Very well then – where did you learn Toxic, Silas?"

He remained silent for a while, and finally answered her question with a series of soft squeaks and whistles – perhaps he was worried that she too would eventually sanction future attempts to turn him into soup. Both she and General Harding appeared surprised upon hearing his answer, though.

"Really, now?" she turned to General Harding. "Did you know about this?"

"No, I didn't," he shook his head with a puzzled frown. "This does shed some light on the case, though..."

"What's going on?" I asked. Damn it, what was with these people and being cryptic?

It was General Harding who answered the question – and of course, he tried to cover his earlier statement up. "He says he learned it from a tentacool we used to have in the vault. It's no big deal, really."

I was just about to ask him whether the tentacool had been Tammy's when I caught Lorelei's gaze. She shook her head ever so slightly, and mouthed the word 'no'. Since his back was to her, General Harding didn't notice it, although he did see my confused expression. Silas flicked his gaze from General Harding to me, and narrowed his eyes.

"Everything alright with you?" he asked. "You look unsure about something."

Discretely taking in a breath of air to soothe my nerves, I blinked once and smiled. "Oh, that's nothing – must have been wandering miles away."

I felt something wet on my leg, and saw that Silas had wrapped his tongue around it. He was pulling himself closer to me, and looked up at me with a narrow-eyed expression.

"Whoa, and now he says that he's got his eye on you, and that he wants a word with you later!" General Harding exclaimed in surprise. "Really, you've got a feisty one there, hah!"

As I picked him up and freed my leg from his tongue's grip, Silas let out a morose whistling sound. General Harding and Lorelei looked a little unsettled by it, and even Nana the jynx – who had wandered over to the water tanks during our little discussion of sorts – turned to look at Silas. Somehow, I got the feeling that he knew more than he was letting them in on.

The question was, just what did he have to tell me? And of course, there was one major obstacle to overcome before we could have any words in private – if he wanted the words to mean anything, that is.

"Umm, Silas?" I tapped the back of his shell. "You do realize I have no idea what you say most of the time, right? So unless you want a game of charades, words in private won't do much."

Before he could come up with an undoubtedly caustic response to that, Lorelei offered a helpful suggestion. "We've got the highest population density of digimon in Sinnoh over here. Don't you think we'd have headsets that could translate pokemon speech?"

"Oh, I see... Would it be alright-"

"Just don't break it," she sniffed. "Nana will assist you in borrowing one – I've got a ton of laboratory reports to check. Farewell for now."

And that was how, fifteen minutes after the interview of sorts, I found myself in an unused laboratory with Silas on the bench. I had been loaned the translator headset by a rather cheerful scientist who was working with a glalie and a snowgoburimon, and so it was indeed a big moment.

For the first time since he had been paired up with me, I would be able to understand what Silas was saying to me.

xxx

"Testing, testing... Is this thing on?" I asked awkwardly as I adjusted the headset on my head. Note to self; get a haircut, since hair is presently shaggy enough to prevent headphones from sitting over ears comfortably.

"_I think it is,_" Silas replied flatly. I could only stare at him in response to that, causing him to sigh. "_Oh, great – looks like my trainer's just turned into a dummy._"

"Hey! This is the first time I've been able to understand you, so cut me some slack," I grumbled, swatting him on his shell. "So, just what did you want to say to me that was so private and confidential?"

He stuck his tongue out with a whistle. "_You seem to know something about the tentacool incident._"

"Yes..."

"_And unless I'm very much mistaken, you actually want to get rid of Zachary Harding somehow._"

I raised an eyebrow. "I want him gone, yes. But saying that I want to get rid of him is stretching it."

"_Semantics,_" Silas said smugly. "_So... just why do you want him gone?_"

"You know why. He and lots of others in port control are corrupt. I'll have no part in it!"

"_And you're better than him how? He never tried to boil a pokemon, to the best of my knowledge,_" he deadpanned.

I groaned and covered my face with both hands. "Will you please let that issue rest already? It's probably going to be my epitaph at this rate."

"_That would be funny,_" he said, as he let out a delicate, whistling laugh. "_Anyway, back to the tentacool issue... what do you know?_"

I frowned as I tried to recall the conversation I'd had with Lorelei. "His previous assistant died under mysterious circumstances – she had been poisoned by a tentacool. Her tentacool died shortly after that. They thought it was due to excessive toxicity of the tentacool, but it wasn't."

"_Anything else Lorelei told you about it?_"

"Nope," I shrugged. "So... what's the big secret?"

"_That tentacool is the same one who taught me Toxic,_" Silas said quietly. "_Shortly before it was killed, that is._"

It took a second for my mind to process his words, and when they finally sank in, I squinted suspiciously at him. "Are you saying you saw it being murdered?"

"_Not directly, but I do know that Zachary Harding was spending a lot of time with it before it got killed,_" he replied. "_No tentacool dies from self-poisoning that fast, believe me. They tend to get sick and develop festering illnesses first._"

"Wait, so this means..." Lorelei had mentioned that someone might have framed General Harding for murder, but here my starter was, suggesting that he had been the murderer in question. "So would he have made it resemble self-poisoning?"

Silas merely withdrew his tongue. "_I do believe you've made your acquaintance with Medusa._"

"_Medusa?_ Damn it, Silas, stop speaking in riddles!" I said snappishly. "How could he have-"

Only then did I make the connection between a tentacool being poisoned by its own venom's potency and Medusa in the context of General Harding.

"Wait, his tentacruel killed it?"

"_We suspect so, but none of us dare to say it out,_" he said, with a hint of fear in his voice. "_He's the head of water pokemon in Canalave, and all of the pokemon on his team are extremely loyal to him._"

I could only stare at my shellder out of shock for a while. What, you think it wasn't a big thing for me to discover that my boss was apparently a murderer? And of course, it wasn't as if I didn't already have a bone to pick with him (not that I'd let him know about it, of course).

"So... why did you take the trouble to tell me all this?" I asked Silas. "I can't exactly do much, and I wasn't even around during the incident in question."

He opened up his shell a little, and glanced about to make sure no one was eavesdropping on us. "_But you _do _want him gone, and that works in our favour._"

"I could probably nail him using the corruption charges alone... there might not even be a need for murder allegations."

"_Trust me, it'll be better this way,_" Silas insisted. "_And there's even a prophecy floating about among the pokemon which probably confirms it!_"

"Oh?" that caught my interest. "What prophecy?"

"_I haven't heard it for myself, but it suggested that there would be a trainer of water pokemon involved in several incidents that would change the world. And apparently, he would be forced to leave his home for some reason._"

"Why couldn't you hear it for yourself?" I asked curiously. "Surely it would have been passed along?"

He rolled his eyes. "_My dear trainer, only those referred to in a prophecy can actually hear the actual words to begin with. You could be standing next to the psychic who made it and hear nothing but gibberish or silence if you weren't involved in it. And even if you did hear it, who's to say it's accurate? Those things are notoriously unpredictable._"

"If you say so," I murmured, trying to gather some semblance of coherent thought. So basically Silas was offering me dirt on General Harding, which could aid in my mission of working my way up to a commander's rank at port control. "Could you get more concrete proof on the matter?"

"_I can try, but I'll have to spend more time down at the water vault._"

"Too suspicious," I shook my head. "Unless you can think of a valid excuse, I doubt that we can get away with that without arousing suspicion – Babamon's probably on his side."

"_Hmm, that is true. You know, I take back what I might have said earlier; you aren't _entirely_ brainless._"

"I feel the love," I retorted sarcastically. "And then there's the problem of you relaying the proof to me."

"_If you get an official inquiry into the matter, they'll get the psychics out,_" he said with a flick of his tongue.

I paused for a moment, thinking about it. Technically speaking, this was mutiny of a sort. But then again, I reminded myself, it was for the greater good, which probably made it justifiable.

Or did it, really?

Nevertheless, I had a smile on my face when I gave Silas an affectionate pat on his shell and said, "You know, I think we could make this work."

"_Only as long as it takes to get that guy behind bars or something – he just creeps me out. After that, I'll go back to being the worst starter anyone could have wished on you._"

"I won't be holding my breath at the altar for you."

"_Deal._"

xxx

Several hours later on when I looked back and reflected on our little talk, I realized that Silas had been right all along when he labelled me as a scheming bastard.

After all, my first full conversation with him had been little more than a plot to get my boss kicked out of work on a murder charge, of all things. If that wasn't a sign of conspiracy or scheming, I really don't know what would be.

Of course, I grudgingly acknowledged that Zachary Harding was indeed an indomitable opponent. And obviously, he being a genuinely nice guy to be around didn't make things any easier, either.

I really couldn't make head or tail of the whole thing. On one hand, I was prepared to betray him and get him hauled up to the stand as a murderer, but another part of me insisted that I really didn't want to go ahead with it.

My sleep on that first night in Snowpoint was plagued by dreams filled with the lingering shadows of my doubts.

xxx

If there was one thing that I had to say about the Snowpoint installation, it would have been that it was definitely an interesting place to explore.

Exploring the installation's non-restricted areas was interesting in itself, as was meeting some of the overworked personnel. Apparently, most of them tended to suffer from gastric problems and insomnia, due to their habit of not sleeping and eating according to a regular schedule. And as it turned out, most of them were more than happy to discuss their work in the cafeteria over a cup of coffee.

According to a materials engineer that I met in the cafeteria, research and development were their main priorities up in the laboratories; self-preservation and personal well-being took a back seat to that.

"We do wonder what happened to that kadabra, though," he had said with an air of detached indifference. "Had a whole crate of those new pulse rifles on it, too."

"Pulse rifles?" I was impressed. "Thought those didn't exist, or at least not yet."

"Oh, believe me, lots of stuff exists over here that most people think doesn't. Take what I'm working on, for instance – it's an offensive gel."

I raised my eyebrow. "Did you just say an offensive _gel?_"

"Sure I did," he nodded happily. "It's actually a swarm of nanomachines that congregate into a gelatinous form. So we can actually control them remotely and make them smother a target or maybe even cause damage on a microscopic scale."

"How's that useful in a fight?"

He had hesitated for a moment. "Well, I'm not sure about that yet, but I've got the assembly methods perfected. Maybe someday it'll turn out to be useful – even if it is for some mundane application like busting tumours in a cancer victim's organs."

"You don't know for sure?" I frowned. "How would you know if it's up to your expectations, then?"

"Oh, it's already satisfied the initial design parameters," he grinned. "I was supposed to make a remote-controlled gel that could serve as a camera, so that we could slip it through cracks and the like for espionage missions. Imagine that, would you? I'd say that the military would probably appreciate a spy camera that can slip under locked doors and through even the tiniest of openings, and completely remote-controlled!"

So it seemed that some of the researchers up at Snowpoint didn't even know why they were doing what they did – they just kept developing new ideas with the hope that someday, someone would find a use for their creations. It was quite a scary situation to think of especially when you considered that they were actually handling all manner of hazardous chemical and biological materials.

But I guess the term 'mad scientist' couldn't have existed without a reason now, could it?

xxx

Aside from the installation itself, the great outdoors turned out to be yet another interesting place to be. Silas and I had stepped out somewhere after lunch during our second day there, and had actually taken a short walk out of the compound. The guards at the perimeter had assured us that as long as we remained within sight of the installation, we'd be safe, and so I had carried him out.

A couple of the off-duty guards had followed us, because they wanted to smoke, of all things – given the sheer amount of hazardous substances in the facility, no smoking was allowed within the compound. So I ended up chatting with them while Silas had a field day sitting on a pile of snow, sticking his tongue out and catching snowflakes on it.

"So, you're from Canalave, eh?" a towering giant of a man had asked me while he puffed on his cigarette. "Nice place to be, last I remembered."

"Oh, it's alright. Nothing quite as exciting as the stuff they've got going on here, though."

His short, bespectacled companion had chuckled at that, "Trust me when I say that it's not as fun as you'd imagine it to be. Most days, we're worried whether some of the loonies they employ here will end up blowing the place up. Did you know, one of the scientists once blew up a toilet by accident?"

I had to suppress the urge to laugh upon hearing that."And how did they manage to do that?"

"Well," rumbled the taller of the two guards, "no one knows for sure, but when they found him, he was in a state of shock and asking everyone what the fuck was going on."

"I'm sure Lorelei was very amused to hear about his little... escapade," I laughed. "She does seem a little uptight."

"A _little_ uptight?" laughed the tall guard, as he stamped out the remains of his cigarette in the snow. "Son, that woman could do with a good screw or several."

"An opinion we all share, and that she is aware of," added the other guard, as he offered his friend his lighter. "Though you'd best not mention it directly – the last person to do so ended up being tied up and made to sit on a block of ice for three hours."

I reflexively winced at the thought of having certain unmentionable body parts placed on ice for prolonged periods of time. Meanwhile, Silas had somehow managed to bury himself in the snow, and was contentedly lounging in it with his tongue sticking of it.

"Cute shellder you have there," commented the big guard – whom I'd mentally designated as Goliath.

"He's alright," I replied, going over and standing over Silas' exposed tongue. "Oi Silas, you alright down there?"

Silas slapped his tongue on the ground, and let out a muffled chirp.

"Silas?" asked David – my nickname for the smaller guard. "That's an interesting name for a water-type."

I shrugged with a sheepish smile. "Well, he's the silent type, so it was a play on the word 'silence'. I guess it was that, and I'm horrible with names in general."

"Silas means 'of the forest' if I recall correctly," David said helpfully. "It's more common among older grass-type trainers."

"Oh?" I'd never actually bothered to look up the meaning of Silas' name. "Well, at least it has a decent meaning."

"No forests under the sea, though," Goliath let out a chuckle. "Unless seaweed and corals count, that is."

Silas let out a whistle that sounded somewhat distressed.

"Are you alright?" I moved over and eased him out of the snowy nook he'd been hiding in. "What's up?"

A furious bellow answered the question before he could say anything further, though. The tree-line started about fifty feet from where we were standing, and some of the nearest pine trees began rustling as though they were being shaken vigorously by something that definitely had some anger management issues.

"Shit, get back to the compound!" David cursed as he drew his sidearm. "We've got an ursaring incoming!"

"Go, kid! We'll cover your back!" Goliath ordered, pulling a sawn-off shotgun out of his winter jacket – well, he _was_ a big guy, so it managed to fit in there.

"Thanks, guys!" I nodded, returning Silas and drawing my own pistol – just in case of anything.

The three of us briskly made our way back towards the compound, even as the bear-like pokemon stepped out of the forest and began sniffing at the air. Fortunately for us, the ursaring had significantly bad eyesight, which prevented it from immediately catching sight of its probable prey.

Just as we made it to the gate through which we'd left the compound, three more ursaring appeared out of the forest, pawing at each other and squinting in our general direction. The frigimon and two magcargo that were on duty at the gate tensed up, as did their handler. Within a minute of the wild pokemon slowly making their way towards the gate, some reinforcements had arrived on the scene, in the form of a froslass and three sneasel.

"Phew, that was close," I said once we were safely back in the compound. "But just how did he sense them coming? We couldn't even see them until after he'd alerted us."

"Shellder evolve into a partial ice-type, kid," Goliath said with a shrug. "Something about elemental affinities or the like, I'd wager."

Furious roars were heard from the gate, and we turned as one to look at what was happening. One of the four ursaring was already dead, covered in severe-looking burns courtesy of the magcargo guards. Two more were swiping futilely at the froslass, which was trying to make it past their fur with Ice Beams. As for the fourth ursaring, it was locked in a grapple with the frigimon, whose fists bristled with ice crystals. Even as we watched, one of the two ursaring that had been ganging up on the froslass had its back torn open by the three sneasel, which cackled with delight upon getting covered in its blood.

"Ah, the daily drama that we live with," sighed David. "And we didn't even make it to three cigarettes each, today."


	13. Age

**Chapter 12 – Age**

It was nearly a week after we got back from Snowpoint that I finally remembered to ask General Harding a question that had been on my mind for quite some time. Specifically, it probably dated back to when I first realized he was none other than the trainer I had seen on the television back when I was somewhere around eight years old.

"Sir?" I asked him, as we watched several machamp receiving a large shipping container from Timothy Kirrin's boom crane. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Eh? Ask away, kid – barring some highly confidential stuff, that is," he shrugged.

"Are all the heads of department here former pokemon trainers?"

He let out an amused chuckle upon hearing my question. "Kid, all of us used to be league contenders or former candidates for gym leadership at the very least. You know about my track record, as well as Fen's and Gary's, so... well, Claire was once in the running for leadership of Lieutenant Surge's gym when he retired, and Frances nearly became the Sinnoh league champion."

My eyes grew wide as I realized just how many high-ranking trainers worked at port control. I mean, I had expected maybe a couple of them to have been strong trainers once, but General Harding's answer had been way beyond my expectations.

But then again, his statements usually were.

"Hmm, in fact, I don't think there's a single department here that isn't headed by someone who has no background as a pokemon trainer," he continued, as he strolled over to the container that the machamp had opened up. "Even the heads of accounting and paperwork have some strong pokemon at their disposal."

"Wow, sir..." I followed him, and watched as he initialled some forms on a clipboard. "You mean that even Dr. Esther was a trainer once?"

As one of the machamp took the clipboard from him, he turned to face me with a vaguely surprised expression. "I actually have no idea – we tend to forget that she's in charge of the medical department, eh. She _is_ a quiet one, you know..."

"She looks like she could be a poison specialist, what with the purple hair and all that," I smirked. "Plus, her skin is _horrible_ – would that be a possible sign of a poison affinity?"

"Hah, you'd best not let her hear about you commenting on her skin – she's somewhat sensitive about it," he laughed, as we headed back to the cargo elevator that would take us to the office block. "But you do have a point, I guess. Koga's gang of ninjas used to have purple hair back in the day, as did some of the ghost specialists that spent a lot of their time with their gastly and gengar."

"No haunter?"

"Well," he scratched his chin in thought, "most people that use ghost-types tend to either use gastly or gengar, since haunter's more of an in-between pokemon, I guess. That, and haunter are actually the hardest to control of the three."

That certainly got my interest. "Why is it so, sir?"

"Haunter are the most unpredictable of the three members in that evolutionary line," General Harding answered as the lift's doors slid shut. "They also have the worst reputation for turning on their trainers if they deem the trainer to be incompetent – why did you think Agatha had two gengar and only one haunter? Ghosts do not regard age as a legitimate reason for making mistakes in a pokemon battle, heh!"

"Oh..." I nodded, somewhat unnerved by the idea of an angry haunter taking its trainer down. "That sounds bad."

"Bad doesn't even begin to describe it," he shrugged. "But it's the way of the universe, so _c'est la vie_ and all that good shit."

"_C'est la vie?_" I echoed his words. "What does that mean, sir?"

"Eh, just one of the older languages that we hardly hear around these parts anymore... means 'that's life' or some crap like that," he shook his head. "I never was one to have a head for languages.

"And now, I have an assignment for you!"

I could only stare at him curiously – I had already finished all my assignments for the week in advance, so what he said was rather unexpected. Unless of course, he wanted me to go and bring him a change of clothes from his apartment again, while he finished his share of the departmental paperwork. "And what would that be, sir?"

"Well, what you said earlier about the good doctor has piqued my interest," he replied, as we stepped out of the cargo elevator – gods, it was slow – and headed towards his office. "So I want you to head down to the archives department and read her file! It's the only way we'll ever find out if she used to be a trainer, I guess."

"Sir, wouldn't that information be classified, confidential, or something?" I asked, relatively unsurprised by his instructions – he probably had done much worse before.

"Persiamon's quite relaxed in her capacity as the archivist," he smirked. "And trust me – she will know if you're planning to misuse the information in her archives."

"Wait – a digimon is the archivist?" I stared at him with a raised eyebrow. "You never mentioned there being any non-human departmental heads."

He merely shrugged as we reached his office. "No big deal, is it? Unless of course you're a xenophobe, in which case I'd be forced to report you to the relevant authorities."

"Oh, no sir," I shook my head. "Just not something I expected, since they all seem to vanish at night and all that."

"Well, the digimon all vanish at night because they sleep in special chambers of some sort – bathes them in radiation that our sun cannot emit, or something like that," he said, as he found his key and opened the office's door. "So scoot already – I want you to find out whether our local mad scientist was, is, or never has been a pokemon trainer."

"Umm, sir," I called out, as he was about to shut his office door, "why don't you just ask her?"

"This way is more fun – more like a spy movie!" he replied. "And she gives me the creeps, so that's that."

xxx

The archives department turned out to be the entire first basement level. It was only accessible via a small elevator that was tucked away near port control's side entrance, and as such probably didn't see much traffic. According to Mary the receptionist, it had been placed there since the first basement was out of the way for most daily affairs, and yet remained close enough to keep the retrieval of documents from being unnecessarily tedious.

As I stepped out of the elevator, the first thing I noticed was that I apparently wouldn't be able to enter the actual archive rooms – the elevator opened up to a waiting area of sorts, with a bench on one side of the room, and a counter on the other. A thick sheet of glass formed the wall where the counter was placed, with some metallic mesh reinforcing it from the inside. The only means of communicating with the archivist was a three-inch gap between the counter-top and the edge of the glass partition, where a thick, hardcover book lay.

There was a formidable-looking metal door on the room's third wall, which turned out to be locked. So I ended up looking through the counter's glass wall, and trying to determine if anyone was actually in. Rows of metal shelves that had been painted yellow stood in the area beyond the glass wall, each holding dozens of blue-colored boxes. Labels had been pasted on the boxes, but the writing on them was too small for me to read clearly from where I stood.

"Is anyone there? I'm looking for," I paused, trying to remember the archivist's name, "Persiamon. Hello?"

For a few moments, the room remained silent. Then, there was a sound not unlike small feet pattering on the floor, and a cotton puff appeared on the other side of the counter. Once I had actually gotten a good look at it, though, I realized that it was actually a whimsicott – one of Unova's most recognizable grass-type pokemon. It was shorter than the counter, and so had apparently walked next to the wall until it reached the counter, where it had hopped up into my view.

Well, it resembled a cotton puff, so I think my branding it as that could be forgiven.

"Umm, is Persiamon in?" I asked the whimsicott, as it smiled at me and blinked its beady little eyes innocently.

"Whimsi!" nodded the fluffy pokemon happily, as it pulled a pen out of its fleece. "Whimsicott!"

"Uh, I was looking for the archivist, not a pen," I told it, as it slid the pen through the gap in the glass wall and across the counter.

With a giggle, the whimsicott shoved the hardcover book that had been lying on the counter towards me, and flipped it shut, revealing a handwritten note that had been pasted there.

"Oh, I need to fill in the log book?" I asked it, upon reading the note on the book's cover. "But I'm not going to take any documents – I just want to read them here."

"Cott!" insisted the pokemon, jabbing one of its paws in the book's direction.

I sighed, "If you say so, then."

I opened the log book, and flipped its pages until I found the last filled one. Then, I tried to fill in my name... only to receive a minor electrical shock from the pen.

"What the hell?" I glared at the whimsicott, which was giggling at me through the glass. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"Oh, do pardon him," purred an effeminate voice from somewhere close by. "My dear Castor tends to be a little... naughty at times."

"Whimsi!" said the little pokemon happily as it leaped off the counter and onto the shoulder of the belly dancer that had stepped up to it.

Well, she did resemble a belly dancer save for the liepard-like spots that covered her legs and the prehensile tail that coiled itself around her waist. Emerald-colored eyes without pupils twinkled at me from above a silken veil, as the digimon brushed the whimsicott off her shoulder.

"Persiamon, I presume?" I asked awkwardly – well, the answer to that was obvious, but I just had to say it.

"You presumed correctly," she replied with a delicate laugh, as the whimsicott hopped away in between the shelves that filled the archives room. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Umm, General Harding sent me to look up some records," I scratched the back of my head. "He wants to find out if Dr. Esther was ever a trainer."

She appeared surprised upon hearing that. "Well, why doesn't he just ask her?"

I looked her in the eyes – no mean feat, given their pupil-less nature – and shrugged. "You know him – he says it's more fun this way, and that she gives him the creeps."

Persiamon merely sighed and pressed a surprisingly humanoid hand to her forehead dramatically. "Oh, I do know Zachary Harding and his antics... Just fill in the log book, and I'll let you in."

"Umm, Persiamon? This pen-"

"Ah, yes – Castor has used that on every visitor to this department ever since Zachary Harding gave it to him for Christmas a few years ago," she shook her head. "If you don't mind, I'll have that."

I handed her the pen, and she gave me another in exchange. Soon enough, I had filled in the required spaces in the log book, and she had opened the metal door to the archives room itself.

"So, you're looking for Esther Maxwell's file?" she asked me, as she shut the door and spun the massive wheel that apparently controlled its locking mechanism. "The head of the medical department? Stringy purple hair, bad skin, surgical mask?"

"Well, yes..." I answered, following her as she headed towards the maze of shelves. It was only once I had actually entered the room that I realized how many shelves there were in it – the room's walls were over a hundred feet away to my left and right, with its fourth wall being hidden by the actual shelves.

The room itself smelled funny – it was a familiar smell, and not an unpleasant one at that, but I couldn't really put my finger on it. So as I followed Persiamon in between the shelves, I ended up taking curious sniffs of the air to try and identify the strange aroma.

She ended up revealing that it was none other than the smell of hairspray when she pulled out an aerosol can of the stuff and sprayed it into the air.

"Umm, you use _hairspray_ to keep the musty smell away?"

"Why not?" She asked as she gave the air one last spray. "It keeps the air smelling nice, and is good for my fur, as well."

"... just how much of it have you used?" I asked, as my mind matched the room's large dimensions to the volume of a can of hairspray. "This room is huge!"

"Well, I _have_ been on the job for four years, darling," she laughed, as her tail whipped around in the air behind her. "I probably should get stock in the company that sells this stuff or something like that."

"You could do that, I guess," I nodded with an amused smile. First a crazy boss, corruption, illegal pokemon battles, an unresolved murder case, and then an archivist that kept her domain fresh using hairspray – I really wondered if anything else at port control could surprise me in the future.

"Here we are!" she announced, stopping in front of a shelf that appeared no different from the others – none of them were labelled, incidentally. "Hmm, Maxwell, Maxwell...

"It's that box over there – you can see her name on it."

I nodded, and bent down to pull the box out. It was roughly shaped like a one-foot cube, and bore a small tag declaring it to contain 'Personnel records for Maxwell, Esther/May, James'. Upon opening it, I noticed that it only held two very slim folders – one of which was marked with a red stamp saying 'DECEASED'.

Obviously not Dr. Esther's file, I mused, as I placed the box on the floor and took out the folder without the deceased notice on it. The folder was hers, all right – it had her name and title on it, printed in bold black type on a small card that served as its label.

Opening the folder, I saw that it was relatively empty. It only had about three pages, and all when I flipped through them, all three of them seemed relatively untouched – the printed blanks were mostly devoid of handwriting. Within less than thirty seconds, I had found her – brief as expected - personal biodata.

"She wasn't a trainer, then," I mumbled to myself, as Persiamon read the biodata alongside me.

"Indeed," she noted. "So I guess you can tell Zachary Harding that the only person he actually fears to an extent isn't even a pokemon trainer."

"I'll do that," I chuckled, as I replaced the folder in its box and hefted the box back onto the shelf. "Thanks for your time."

"Ah, it's no big deal, since we get very few visitors down here, usually," she said with a wave of her hand. "Do drop by if you have the time – we wouldn't mind the company."

"Alright, then-" I suddenly froze in my tracks and leaped backwards, reaching for my pistol as an ariados scuttled over one of the shelves and glared at me. "How did one of those get in here?"

"Relax, he's mine," Persiamon giggled, beckoning to the spider-like pokemon. It let out a happy chirp, and moved up to her feet, rubbing its side against them like a growlithe would. "Ford, how many times have I told you not to scare visitors?"

The ariados let out a somewhat subdued chirp, followed by several gesticulations with its foremost legs.

"Oh? I'm sorry, but it seems we have more visitors – we'll have to get back to the counter fast."

Even as I followed her back to the counter, where several people could be seen in the waiting area, the ariados gave me yet another glare. It was walking on the shelves like they were a collection of massive stepping stones, and swung between them using its webs – I hadn't noticed earlier, but the ceiling seemed to be covered in them.

"You don't like me, and I don't like bugs, either," I said to the arachnid, as I headed off towards the archive room's entrance. It let out a hissing sound, and that was the end of our little conversation.

"Don't forget to visit us next time!" Persiamon called out, as her next visitors filled in the log book.

xxx

I got back to General Harding's office within five minutes of leaving the archives department – taking the stairs is always faster than using the elevator to get to his office, for the record. As I approached the door, I saw that the lights inside were off – something not too unusual for most people given that it was now coming close to lunchtime, but strange given that he tended to keep them on whenever he was in his office.

Knocking on the door, I called out to check if he was in. "General Harding? Are you there, sir?"

"Come on in, kid," he replied. "Don't worry – no axe murderers have broken in and are holding me hostage or anything."

Shaking my head with a resigned smile, I opened the door. "I highly doubt-"

"SURPRISE!"

I could only blink like a hoothoot as I stood in the corridor and saw who was inside the room. General Harding was there, of course, but so were Generals Fen and Maine. Babamon was smoking in a corner near an open window, and Mary the receptionist was standing behind General Harding's desk with a big smile on her face.

"Umm, what's going on?" I asked them, as I brushed my hair out of my eyes to make sure that it wasn't causing me to see things.

"You're turning eighteen today!" replied General Harding with a wide grin. "So we decided to throw you a little party."

"Little indeed," noted General Fen," since all we have is a small cake with some booze."

"Booze is good, though," Babamon chimed in. "Vodka?"

"Naturally," he shrugged. "What else do the three of us hoard, really?"

"Sir!" I said, horrified. "As much as I appreciate the gesture, isn't this-"

"Illegal? Wrong? Hideously immoral? Criminal?" General Harding smirked like the meowth from Alice in Wonderland. "Kid, since when have I given a fuck's worth about these things?"

"Well, there was that time-" General Maine began with a sadistic glint in his eyes, only to be hushed up by my commanding officer.

"_As I was saying,_" he cleared his throat. "Happy birthday, kid!"

When I saw Mary taking out a cake from a box on his desk, I almost felt overwhelmed for a moment. The last time I had actually had birthday cake had probably been more than five years ago, before my parents told me that I had become old enough to not be bothered by celebrating a day when I grew one year older. And yet these people which I hadn't known for more than a year were all here with a cake for my birthday.

Ignoring the lump that was forming in my throat, I offered them what was probably my fifth genuine smile since I had first arrived at Canalave. "Thanks, guys."

xxx

"- so he suddenly starts shouting, 'The fish are burning!'" laughed General Fen, as he recounted a story from their training days, when General Harding's cooking skills were apparently quite horrible. "Next thing we know, Gary here rushes over and dumps the whole pan of fish into the pot of stew which I had going on the fire also..."

"That was the best stew I had ever eaten till today, though," nodded the massive rock-specialist. "You would have to be there, eating that horribly charred fish and laughing around the campfire, to truly appreciate the moment, I think."

"Hey, at least I didn't set my underwear on fire," General Harding said, wagging his finger at General Fen with amusement in his eyes. "Fen, how many times did I tell you-"

"Well, they were wet, and I couldn't very well go on without any clean underwear!"

"Ever heard of going commando?" suggested Babamon, as she lit a fresh cigarette. "I'm surprised that you didn't, knowing your travelling partners."

"Nah, I don't particularly enjoy having my goods bouncing around as I got into scrapes with these two goons," he smirked. "But yes, I did go commando a few times when Zachary borrowed or stole my underwear for the fun of it."

"I still don't know how you could enjoy wearing briefs, though," commented General Maine.

"Wait, sir – General Harding _borrowed_ your underwear?" I asked, wide-eyed.

"Well, we were about the same size for a while back then," General Harding replied with a triumphant look. "But then came the day when I had a growth spurt, and borrowing them would've been an act of abuse."

"Zachary, you fucking-"

"We shall _not_ discuss your underwear and endowments here, thank you very much," Mary said primly from where she sat behind General Harding's desk. "And what's the meaning of this – we've blown out the candles, but no one's eating it!"

"Ah, yes," General Maine perked up. "What kind is it?"

"Chocolate, of course," answered General Harding, as he turned to face Mary. "Did they give a knife with it?"

"Yes, they did," she nodded, holding it up for him to see. "So, should I cut it into little square slices or pie slices?"

"Whatever works," muttered Babamon, "though if you're doing the tiny square cuts, I call dibs on the edges."

"Hey, I want the creamy bits too!" protested General Maine, as she shoved him aside and made her way to the desk.

"Bite me," she retorted. "Look at you – you're nearly three feet taller than I am, and still you want the creamy pieces!"

"It has nothing to do with- ouch! Okay, you win! Take the creamy pieces and stop clubbing my knees!"

I couldn't help myself – I burst out laughing upon seeing Babamon giving his kneecaps hell with her walking stick. For the first time since I had been to Canalave, I really did feel at home.

"Hey, kid – aren't you going to let Silas out?" General Harding startled me out of my reverie. "He _can_ take chocolate in small doses, you know."

"Eh? Oh, yeah," I nodded, unclipping Silas' pokeball from my belt and letting him out. He materialized on the floor beside me, and turned to look curiously at me once he realized that there were more people than usual in General Harding's office.

"Hey," I greeted him, picking him up, "do you want some cake? It's chocolate."

Silas shifted a little in my arms to get a look at the cake, and let out a soft chirp. He stuck his tongue out and flexed it a few times as if he was testing the air, before chirping again.

"He says he'll be happy with a small piece," Babamon said, as she hobbled over, placing two pieces of cake on Silas' back. "And he's asking what the occasion is – here, have them."

"But these are the creamy bits," I protested, as I tried to hand them back to her. "Don't worry, I'll get my own pieces – you go ahead and enjoy them."

"Nonsense, you're the birthday boy!" she scoffed. "Do you want me to beat you across the knees with my walking stick?"

"Err, no," I said nervously, backing up against the bookshelves that lined the wall.

"Then take the cake," she said, as Silas let out a whistling sound, and flicked his tongue in her direction. "Yes, shellder – your trainer just turned eighteen. I'd advise not turning around to wish him yet, though, since there's cake on your back."

"Thanks, Babamon," I said, as I took one of the two pieces of cake and held it in front of Silas. His tongue snaked out and wrapped around it, taking the piece out of my hands. "How's its taste, Silas?"

He let out a muffled sound, like someone speaking with their mouth full, causing General Fen to laugh. "He says its tastes like chocolate, Captain Obvious. Sharp tongue you have there on your shellder."

"Well, he tends to speak his mind," I shrugged, as I ate my own piece of cake. "Hmm, tastes good."

"So, kid," General Harding turned to face me, eating a piece of cake. "Going to give your parents a call?"

I froze and stood rooted to the spot once my mind had processed his question. How did I answer that one? Realizing that everyone's eyes were on me – including Silas', I noted – I decided to evade the question.

"Ah, maybe," I said, plastering a big, fake smile onto my face. "Maybe tonight, since they're only usually home after eight."

"After eight?" Mary asked, raising her eyebrow curiously. "They work late, eh?"

"Well, their business keeps them occupied most of the time," I said casually, despite the fact that my heartbeat had picked up its pace a little. What if General Harding knew something about it? "I didn't see much of them before eight as I was growing up, really."

"Ah, well – most of us didn't see our parents that often, either," laughed General Maine. "That's the trainer's life, I guess."

"Too true," nodded General Harding, giving me a funny look.

Luckily, no one else seemed to notice my brief slip-up – I think. Silas had probably noticed the changes in my heartbeat, since I was holding him against my chest, but he didn't make any comments.

I guess I should have been thankful for that small bit of mercy.

Later, when I got back to the hostel after work, I was told by the dormitory head that my parents had called earlier, around eight-thirty. For the first time in a while, I was in two minds about calling my parents – the urge to do so hadn't really bothered me since I first enlisted in the military.

Five minutes after nine, I decided to return their call using the hostel phone. Silas was with me, on the table under the wall-mounted phone, looking bored as he sat on the phone book.

"Hello?" mom had picked up the phone.

"Hello, mom," I said, feeling my voice cracking through the registers as it had done when I was going through puberty. "I heard you called earlier?"

By the time I hung up, I was on the verge of tears. I really hadn't expected that phone call to go well, to be honest. But my parents had sounded so happy to finally hear from me after such a long time, and it wasn't easy to try and sound normal while I spoke to them. After all, I hadn't expected them to forgive me for running away to join the army two years ago.

I barely noticed when Silas scooted over and wrapped his tongue over my shoulders.


	14. Voyeurism

**Chapter 13 – Voyeurism**

A few days after I literally had the first conversation in a few years with my parents, General Harding didn't turn up for work. Silas and I were occupied by trying to pretend that he hadn't tried to comfort me in the wake of the phone call, but my boss being missing from his office effectively provided us with a distraction.

The first clue I got about his absence was well, his absence from his office when I walked in at a quarter to eight. Usually, he got in before seven and took a nap to make up for his lack of sleep at night, so he not being in the deckchair by the side of his desk was unusual. There wasn't even a post-it note or some other form of notice on his desk to explain that particular deviation from his normal behaviour.

Well, there also weren't any empty coffee mugs on his desk – Adrienne always brought in coffee for the three of us at half past seven. Stepping up to his desk, I reached out to press a hand against the worn fabric of his deckchair. It wasn't warm, so he definitely hadn't come in.

Deciding that it wouldn't do any harm to let Silas out, I released him from his pokeball. He materialized on General Harding's desk, and gave me a curious look when he noticed my commanding officer's absence.

"Yes, I think he's missing today," I said in reply to the curious squeak he made. "I'm going to check it out, but if he's really missing..."

Silas opened his shell a little wider and gave me an interested look, letting out a soft chirp as he did so.

"You could get down to the vault today, if he's out," I smirked. "Want to try and... socialize with some of the other water pokemon today?"

He let out an amused snort, and bobbed his shell up and down. Reaching out with his tongue, he gripped my hand with it, and vaulted up onto my shoulder.

"Whoa, easy there, little guy!" I grumbled, as I caught him and stopped him from falling behind me. "We're going to check whether he's really absent first, alright?"

With that, I held him in my arms and left General Harding's office.

xxx

"General Harding of all people, _absent?_" Mary echoed, blinking in disbelief. "You very sure that he didn't go out for a bit or something?"

"Quite sure," I nodded. "No empty coffee mugs on his desk, and the deckchair's cool."

"Hmm, he might be sick," she mused, picking up the telephone on the reception desk. "Wait right here – I'll call his apartment to check."

Silas and I waited for a while as she looked up his number using a list she dug out from beneath the desk, and called him at home. Hopefully he _was_ at home to begin with, or we might have ended up with a case of him being missing for real. So we waited as Mary began humming to herself, waiting for someone to pick the phone up on the other end of the line.

After a bit, we heard what sounded like a muffled clicking sound coming from the receiver, and Mary perked up.

"Good morning, Zachary," she began, only to stop halfway through her greeting. Her smile turned into a small frown as she heard whatever he was telling her, and she glanced in my direction. "Oh, it's alright, then. I'll send your assistant over with the documents, okay? You get some rest."

As she hung up, both Silas and I rounded on her with curious expressions. "What happened to General Harding?"

"Well, he seems to be down with a fever," she shrugged. "He said he'd been burning up since about three in the morning, so he's taking the day off."

"Oh," I replied, as Silas eyeballed me, waiting for my response to that little bit of news. "Something about documents being delivered?"

"Ah, yes," she happily nodded. "You'll have to head up to his office and get some documents that he was supposed to sign and submit by tomorrow. He said he has no idea if the fever will carry through till tomorrow, so he needs them brought over to him today."

She paused for a moment. "And for once, he actually cares about his paperwork! I ought to buy a lottery ticket or something to mark the occasion..."

"Which documents are those?" I asked, scooping up Silas from the reception desk. "I could easily drop them off during lunch, I guess. Someone probably needs to man his office today."

Mary thought for a moment. "Hmm, he said they were the only pieces of paperwork on his desk. And it's nice to see you actually bothering about staying to keep an eye on his office for today, kid."

"Ah, it's not a problem," I gave her a big smile. "No problem at all."

xxx

After dropping Silas off with Babamon at the water vault and explaining to her that he wanted to socialize a little with the other water pokemon, I went back to General Harding's office and began scrutinizing the place for possible pieces of evidence to be used against him. As I had expected, the only neat parts of his office turned out to be the bookshelves and desk, neither of which offered much in the way of what I was searching for.

He had what seemed to be hundreds of books on the bookshelves, mostly novels. The desk only had the paperwork he was supposed to finish on it – slightly crumpled from when Silas had materialized on top of it just now, but I'd seen him submit documents in worse shape than those sheets before.

I did search discretely through his desk's drawers for a while, followed by a perusal of the bookshelves' contents. Nothing that could be considered unusual turned up other than a couple of dog-eared gardening magazines, of all things, so I finally gave up after a while.

Picking out a novel titled 'The Long Walk' from his seething collection of paperbacks, I settled down in his deckchair and began reading to pass the time until lunch.

xxx

As it turned out, General Harding lived in a comfortably clean part of Canalave, in an apartment building that had a distant view of the sea. It didn't go any higher than three stories, and based on its external appearance, the apartment units weren't too big – maybe three times the size of my dormitory room, at most.

"Looking for someone, kid?" the manager asked from behind his desk, as I walked into the building. "Otherwise, all our units are occupied, so you'd have to try someplace else."

"Err, I'm looking for Zachary Harding," I replied, briefly checking the slip of paper that Mary had given to me after scrawling his address on it. "Says here that he's on the third floor, in the fourteenth unit?"

"Aye, that's Harding, all right," said the manager as he cleaned his ear with a cotton bud. "Go on up there, then."

"Thanks, mister," I nodded, heading towards the stairs.

Within a couple of minutes, I had located General Harding's apartment unit. As expected, it was facing towards the Canalave terminal – its balcony would've been facing the sea, that way. The little ceramic corals he had placed in actual flowerpots filled with soil were also a giveaway of sorts, admittedly. And even if I hadn't noticed his attempt at decorating his portion of the corridor, his immediate neighbour had a horseshoe nailed to his metal-plated door, with several sheets of paper pasted to it that had Chinese-looking inscriptions on them – most probably General Fen Siow Loong's place, since they had mentioned living next to each other sometime in the past.

I knocked on the door. "General Harding, sir?"

There was no response, and so I tried the door – to my surprise, it turned out to be unlocked. A faint smell of herbs came out through the opened door, making me wonder if this was indeed his apartment – he hardly had a reputation for being a great cook. Stepping into his apartment, I almost ran right into Adrienne, who was brandishing a feather duster.

"_Oh, good afternoon,_" she said, as she stepped back and began dusting the tiny coffee table next to the sofa in his living room. "_Delivering the documents for him to sign?_"

"Oh, hi Adrienne," I gave the slowbro a small hug. "Yeah, I'm here with the documents. Is he awake?"

"_He should be, since we just gave him some chicken soup,_" she said as she began dusting the shoe rack. "_Go on in to the second room – that's his bedroom._"

"Isn't chicken soup for colds, though?"

"_Nonsense – soup properly made is never a bad thing,_" she scoffed, even as she began dusting his gastrodon, which was sleeping on the floor next to the bookshelf.

As it turned out, the apartment was indeed about the size I had estimated it to be. It had two rooms and a small kitchen in the back that was separated from the living room by a bookshelf. I could see an octillery sitting next to the stove with a ladle clasped in one of its tentacles, and figured that it had probably watched over the chicken soup. I headed to the second room, as Adrienne had instructed, and knocked on the door.

"General Harding?"

A muffled reply came back through the door, and so I opened it and stepped through the doorway. Almost as soon as I had entered the room, though, he let out a groan, "Close it – the lights are too bright."

I turned around and shut the door, and turned back to face him. And I ended up staring at him as he lay motionless in his bed.

A small, ancient-looking fan that probably generated more noise than wind was blowing at him, and the window was open to presumably let breezes in. Also, an empty soup bowl was perched on top of a hardcover book that had been placed on his bedside table. But of course, it was he himself that ended up drawing my attention.

He had mentioned that he was burning up due to his fever, and so the icepack on his forehead was not something I hadn't expected to see.

The fact that he was wearing nothing _other_ than the icepack was a surprise, though – a pair of shorts was lying on the floor next to his bed.

Even as my mind screamed all manner of obscenities at me for being a horrendous lecher and pervert, I found myself staring at his partially-covered face. His eyes were closed, and if not for the icepack, I probably could've been fooled into thinking that he enjoyed sleeping in the nude. Then, they wandered down to his neck – not too muscled, but not scrawny, either – and then progressed to his chest.

Ignoring my brain's protests against the fact that I was presently checking out my _boss_ of all people, my terribly disobedient eyes went on moving downwards after getting a good look his relatively toned chest – not quite a swimmer's chest, but with some muscle definition and scarring that did make it attractive to an extent. From there, I found my gaze travelling to his flat abdomen that had traces of a four-pack on it.

"_Would you like some of the chicken- Zachary, put some pants on now! Your assistant is here!_" It was then that Adrienne opened the door and stepped into the bedroom – right then, I had no idea if I wanted to hug or curse her for doing so. As I stood rooted to the spot and felt my face reddening, she sighed and patted me on the back. "_Sorry you had to see that, but the poor dear probably felt too stuffy._"

General Harding let out a grunt and mumbled a response, "He's seen me in the gym showers, and I don't hear him complaining about the view..."

"Sir!" I squawked, trying to cover my face with the folder containing his paperwork. "I don't look at you in the showers! And umm... you need to sign these."

"Gimme," he muttered, slowly opening his eyes and taking the icepack off his forehead. "I'm going to re-freeze this thing, anyway..."

He got off the bed, and plucked the folder out of my grasp as he yawned. Somewhat clumsily, he padded out of the room and headed to the kitchen. There came the sound of a fridge being opened, followed by something being thrown inside. Then, there was a thumping noise, followed by him talking to his octillery, "Hey, Ursula – seen any pens lying around here?"

Ursula let out a whistling sound, and must have handed him a pen, because he mumbled out a 'thank you' to her shortly after that. A short while later, he walked back into the bedroom and held the folder out to me. "It's done, kid."

"Umm, thanks, sir," I blushed as I tried hard to not ogle him. "Could you put on some pants, please?"

He stepped forward and crashed down onto his bed, face-first. "Whatever, kid."

"_Zachary, Zachary_," Adrienne sighed, as she stepped behind me and gently pushed me out of the room. "_Come on, you can have some chicken soup, and then you'd best be headed back to port control._"

And that was how I wound up sitting opposite her at General Harding's tiny kitchen table, having some chicken soup. Ursula the octillery was dozing by the stove as I spooned it out of a lotad-shaped bowl, and Adrienne was playing Patience using some rather aged and stained playing cards.

"This is some good soup," I told her, as I nibbled on a morsel of chicken meat that had found its way into my bowl of soup. "Where did you guys learn to make it?"

"_Eh?_" she looked up from her cards and blinked like a noctowl. "_Sorry, what was it you were asking about again?_"

"The chicken soup," I held up the lotad-bowl. "It's tasty."

"_Ah, the soup recipe_," she smiled absently. "_Zachary taught us how to make it – it's one of the few things he can actually cook without triggering the smoke alarms. He also feeds it to us when we're recovering from injuries and the like, so it's sort of like our official recuperation meal or something like that._"

I chuckled. "Given how he's admitted to being a horrible cook, I'm quite impressed."

"_Oh, he IS a bad cook. But he does manage to handle his mother's recipes – like the chicken soup – quite well._"

"Ah, interesting."

"_And I noticed,_" she went on, looking at me with her large, vacant eyes, "_that you were checking him out just now._"

I did a spit-take then, and would've gotten her head covered in soup if she hadn't used her psychic abilities to catch it in mid-air and sent it flying back into the bowl. "I- I was not!"

"_Pipe down, boy,_" she laughed. "_He does need his rest to get better. And yes, back on the topic – you were definitely checking him out._"

"Seriously Adrienne, I was not checking him out," I sputtered, wiping my chin on the back of my hand. "He's my boss! And he's also a guy!"

"_Well, he's a rather good-looking guy by your human standards,_" she shrugged. "_And unless I have suffered from some rather severe brain damage that impairs my telepathy, you don't really have a thing for the ladies now, do you?_"

I hesitated for a bit, and glared at her. "Wait a minute... did you just read my mind?"

"_The mind is not a book to be read, dear. I merely took a peek into your thoughts,_" she hummed, as she resumed her game of Patience. "_Oh, a thirty – looks like the game might end soon!_"

"Adrienne," I said firmly, "there _is_ a reason why telepaths aren't allowed to randomly root through people's minds, you know."

"_Nothing harmful, though,_" she shook her head. "_You should tell him, you know._"

"I will not! That could get me into some serious trouble!"

"_Oh, please – you think everyone in the military is ramrod straight? I'll tell you something, dear... some of the guys we have at port control would definitely enjoy being given the ramrod treatment, themselves. Heck, some of them regularly bone others and get boned._"

I could only stare at her with my mouth hanging open, as she went on with her game of Patience.

"_Anyways, it's fine if you want to keep it to yourself,_" she said, looking me in the eye and smiling a little. "_But know this, dear – nothing much can be gained without some risk-taking._"

"I hate you, Adrienne," I mumbled, as I chewed on a piece of diced carrot.

"_So says Zachary often enough, though really, you boys could use some good mothering on the odd occasion. More soup, dear?_"

xxx

It only took General Harding two days to recover from his fever, and by the third day he was back to bouncing around port control like the hyperactive maniac that he usually was. You could practically feel the shudder that ran down port control's collective spine as he waltzed through its main doors with a huge grin on his face.

"Good morning to you, kid!" he sang, as he slammed his office door open and jumped into his deckchair. "Ah, it's great to be back in here... missed me, Linda?"

"Linda?" I echoed, even as the wall shook from the impact of General Fen's fist on it, followed by a muffled call for us to 'shut the fuck up'. "You named your deckchair _Linda?_"

"Well, she's comfortable," he said, sinking down into the chair and closing his eyes with a contented sigh. "And she fits two – want to join me?"

"Umm, thanks but no thanks, sir," I muttered, hoping to whatever deities might have been listening that Adrienne hadn't told him anything about what we had discussed in his kitchen while he was zoned-out in his bedroom. Oh gods, if he found out about _that_ particular conversation...

Fortunately, Adrienne arriving with the morning's coffee drew us both back to the routine which had become our daily state of affairs at his office. "Ah, Adrienne – you're just in time! Tonight, I'll be taking the kid here for a drink."

She didn't even blink upon hearing General Harding's announcement of sorts. "_And just why are you taking him out with you? I don't think he'll be that comfortable with what you and Fen do with on your Friday nights out._"

"Well, he did ensure that those documents got to me and back here safely," he replied, still reclining like a boneless thing in his deckchair. "That, and it's Friday – a stag night if there ever was one."

"Sir, why do you persist in doing this to me?" I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

"Because I'm AWESOME like that – and we're going to a strip club tonight, so I think you'd appreciate the view."

I couldn't even think of an answer to that one.

xxx

"... I thought you said we were going to a strip club."

"Well, I never said that it would be women taking off their clothes now, did I?" General Harding shrugged, popping several peanuts into his mouth. "And the drinks here are good, anyway."

"Hmph, I wouldn't listen to Zachary Harding too much if I were you, kid," General Fen chuckled. "Bastard tends to get us into more trouble than he's worth."

Alright, so maybe I should have guessed that a club named the 'Cock Pit' was a gay strip club rather than a normal one where women did the stripping. And maybe I should have taken the sign declaring the club to have 'the hottest topless staff on the docks' a little more seriously. But there we were, sitting in a corner not too far from the stage, where a rather muscular man wearing nothing but a rather skimpy thong was going through a pole dance routine.

General Harding didn't seem to be particularly bothered by the show, but General Fen's eyes kept flicking back in the direction of the stage, and his wistful smirk suggested that some probably nasty thoughts were running through his head. It did make me wonder if the bespectacled Asian general was more dirty-minded than he appeared to be, but I honestly didn't want to know – ignorance was indeed bliss, as the proverb went.

"Well, Fen," General Harding pouted, "I'd hardly say it was trouble for us to come here now, was it? You seem to be enjoying the view."

Before General Fen could respond, however, there came some cheers from the stage's direction. We turned as one to check it out, and saw that the stripper was now spraying himself with some sort of oil.

"Work that body, young man!" cheered a rather familiar voice that made my jaw drop once my brain had matched it to a face. "Come closer, hoo boy!"

"Aunty Moira?" I squeaked, watching with wide eyes as none other than port control's chief engineer stuffed some bills down the front of the stripper's thong, while an equally old woman cheered her on. "What's she doing _here?_"

"Eh?" General Fen took a sip of his drink, and tried to skewer the olive in it using the cocktail umbrella in his glass. "Oh, Moira? Yeah, she's a regular customer here – quite a cougar, that one is."

"Cougar?" I echoed.

"Older woman who enjoys the... company of younger men," General Harding said helpfully.

A rather high-pitched laugh came from the stage, and once again we turned to look in its direction.

"Lady, please don't do this!" the stripper was saying, as Moira Hew grabbed him by the ankle. "You probably have underwear that's older than me!"

"Oh, I do – would you like me to show them to you?" she cackled, as her friend and the crowd around the stage wolf-whistled at the poor stripper's fate. "Now, come to mommy!"

"The poor guy," General Harding shook his head. "He should have known better than to let her get that close to him."

General Fen snorted into what was left of his drink. "Remember that incident with the stripper at Choco's Ranch?"

"Oh, gods," laughed General Harding, "that stripper charged her for assault, didn't he?"

"Sirs," I interrupted, aghast. "Do you always go to _gay_ strip clubs?"

"Why not?" asked General Fen, raising his eyebrows. "They're usually less crowded and the drinks are on average a lot nicer."

"That one may just be us, though," General Harding noted, squinting into his glass. "I think there's a lipstick stain on my glass.

"Anyways, kid – what's your story?"

I could only stare at him – that question was completely unexpected. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Well, we don't know that much about you," he shrugged. "And you know a decent bit about us, so turnabout's fair play, no?"

"Baby tell me what's your story, I ain't shy so don't you worry!" sang General Fen, drawing several curious stares. "And what the FUCK are you people looking at?"

"... that was random, Fen."

"Hey, that was good music!" he protested. "Katy Perry and Timberland, 'If We Ever Meet Again' – and we _are_ in a club now."

General Harding shook his head. "Thank goodness your voice isn't that bad, given your tendency to sing at random moments... but you're right! Kid, let's hear your story."

"Well..." I tried to distract myself my staring into the depths of my glass – this was not a topic I was particularly fond of. "What do you want to know?"

"How does somebody like you end up enlisting?" General Harding asked, as he drained his glass dry. "Your parents were both well-to-do business people, weren't they?"

"What's somebody like you doing in a place like this?" General Fen added in his singsong voice, as he idly watched the stripper finally making his escape from Moira Hew's clutches. "We used to be trainers, and when we lost that privilege we ended up here."

"Exactly – so how did a kid like you end up in the military?"

I hesitated, before taking a sip of my drink. "Well, I ran away."

The two of them gave me curious looks, but said nothing. Taking that as a cue to continue, I set my glass down and let out a resigned sigh.

"Never dreamed I'd be sharing this with you guys, but... promise me you won't spread it around?"

"Why not?" asked General Fen. "We're all one big family at port control, in some ways."

"If I am going to make something of myself, I'll do so on my own," I said, trying to sound forceful and yet mask the way my voice was threatening to crack. "I never want to live in a shadow."

General Harding cocked his head to one side. "So you ran away."

"Well, I did. They wanted me to take over their business someday," I murmured, watching as the club's lights reflected off a shiny disco ball that was hung above the stage. "That was why I never became a trainer – the revolution made sure that all trainers were in the military. So I went to school. But when I got to high school, I decided that I didn't want to live that life anymore."

"Why didn't you just tell them how you felt?" asked General Fen, as he finally managed to skewer the olive in his glass, popping it into his mouth.

"I did, but..." I bit my lip. "They told me I'd outgrow it, that the desire to be a trainer was a passing phase. So when I graduated from high school, I took just what I needed, and ran away. The base camp at Mount Coronet was close enough, and I lied about my age to get in. When the commandant found out, he wanted to give me the boot, but somehow he let me stay.

"One day, I fell into the tank where commandant's pet goldeen lived, and that led to my affinity test. And here I am."

For a while, we sat in silence, doing nothing save for popping a couple of peanuts, or sipping from the glasses which we hadn't already emptied. Thankfully, my tolerance for alcohol was somewhat high, since the club's manager apparently insisted on serving us alcoholic drinks only.

"Well, kid," General Harding said softly, "we all have tough decisions to make in life. So the question at the end of the day probably is whether we make the most of our choices."

"Choices are often neither good nor bad," chimed in General Fen, as he tried to discretely flick a toothpick at a squint-eyed man sitting behind him. "They're only as much as you make them out to be, I guess."

I could only nod mutely as I swirled my screwdriver in its glass. Advice was good and fine, but it couldn't possibly erase my doubts about what I had already done. Running away was one thing, and not calling or writing home for close to two years was another. Of course, they didn't have to know that – along with a whole host of other nasty things that I kept locked up in my skull. "Thanks, sirs."

"Do you know why we brought you out tonight, kid?" General Harding asked me with a concerned look. "It's because you looked like you needed to unwind, maybe hang out a little. We're fine if you want to actually get plastered, you know."

"Sometimes, we need to drown our sorrows in chemicals, like ethanol," nodded General fen sagely. "Tomorrow's a half-day, anyway – it's Saturday!"

"Speaking of which, I don't think we've had _quite_ enough to drink, especially the kid over here... Oi, Gaston – keep them coming!"

General Fen wound up giving General Harding a sloppy, wet kiss _with tongue_, and I apparently ended up bawling into my commanding officer's shoulder about being a no-good runaway. For his part, General Harding managed to embarrass himself by accidentally going to the ladies' room when he needed to take a piss, which resulted in an amused Moira Hew steering him out of there as she complimented his junk.

And that was what happened when we ended up getting completely smashed that night.


	15. Closet

**Chapter 14 – Closet**

As it turned out, having a massive hangover on a Saturday morning wasn't too bad, since Saturday was a half-day for us at port control, anyways. I had gotten accustomed to the relative peace and quiet on Saturdays, which was very obviously a blessing on that particular morning. Nonetheless, General Harding and I wound up eating scrambled eggs in the cafeteria until close to eight in the morning as we tried to weather the consequences of getting wasted the night before.

Both of us probably looked like a pair of drug addicts suffering from withdrawal symptoms, if the red eyes and lethargy were any indication.

"The lesson that you ought to learn," he said, shovelling some eggs into his mouth, "is that when the television above the bar starts showing a double image, _maybe_ it's time to stop drinking."

"Says you," I snorted, as I moodily sipped from my glass of water. "As I recall, you were the one who insisted that I keep drinking, sir."

His eyes glazed over. "This is all so unfair – how come that bastard Fen can never get hung-over even if he tried? And here we are, bah!"

"... just where is he, sir?"

"Probably having his breakfast in his office," General Harding grunted, as he finished the last of his eggs. "I'll be going over to his office for a bit, so you're free to enjoy your headache alone."

"If you say so, sir," I grimaced at his retreating back as I stirred my eggs about, mixing them in with the ketchup on my plate. Oh, well – at least it seemed that I'd be able to make a trip down to the vaults for Silas to go on with his usual snooping.

Just how I was supposed to understand any information he might have gathered was still up for grabs, though – I really hoped that there would be someone that we could trust and who had a psychic I could borrow when the time came to use the collected proof.

xxx

After dropping Silas off at the vaults – where Babamon greeted him enthusiastically with a pokemon treat – I headed back upstairs to General Harding's office. While we technically weren't supposed to be sleeping on the job, it was a bloody Saturday, and my head felt like a gang of whismur were having a jolly good party in it. So I tried to make it back there without running into anyone who might stop me from getting a quick nap.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

"Good morning, sweetheart!" chirped an annoyingly perky voice from behind the reception desk as I passed it. "The workers down at the docks just called up and told me that they've got a consignment of goods that needs Zachary's signature. Could you please pass him that message?"

"Ugh?" I groaned, turning to look at Mary with my bloodshot eyes. "Got it... will tell him when I see him next..."

She frowned. "Oh, gods – he took you boozing last night?"

"It's that obvious, eh?" I slumped against the wall next to her desk. "Goodness, the headache sucks _balls._"

"_Language,_ young man!" she trilled, wagging a finger at me. "Now off you go, and make sure he gets down to the docks to deal with the goods before he clocks out for today."

"Yes, ma'am."

xxx

Annoyingly enough, General Harding turned out to be missing. He and General Fen weren't in the latter's office when I knocked and went in, and so I found myself trying to guess their probable location. After a few minutes of fruitless mind wandering, I decided to collect Silas from the vault, and ask Babamon if she had a psychic lying around that could help me locate my boss.

"Oh, he's gone missing again?" Babamon asked with some surprise. "Well, I think we had an exeggcute in the grass vault... let me check."

"Where'd you think he might have gone?" I asked as I walked behind her towards the grass vault, with Silas cradled in my arms. "He's still on the clock, right?"

"Son, if there's one thing that all former trainers have in common, it's the disregard for the clock," she replied as she opened the vault's blast door, "_especially_ when those three ruffians are concerned."

The grass vault was really quite simple – it had a large patch of synthetic grass growing in the middle of it, and the whole room reeked of freshly-turned earth. Babamon headed over to the shelves of pokeballs that lined one of the vault's walls, and began scrutinizing them.

"Now, son, I'll tell you this beforehand – don't say anything to the exeggcute. Their powers are developed enough to locate another living being, but their attention spans are absolutely atrocious. So just let me talk to them, alright?"

"Can't they communicate directly with me?" I asked, as Silas flipped himself out of my grasp and onto the artificial turf, which he gave a few cautious licks. "I mean, they _are_ psychics, right?"

"True, but their powers aren't refined enough for telepathy," she shrugged. "And trying to listen to all six of the seeds speaking in your head, all at once? Would make your present headache seem tame in comparison."

Within a couple of minutes, she had found the exeggcute she was looking for, and released it.

"Exeggcute!" she addressed the hyperactive, egg-like pokemon with a stern voice. "Could you kindly help us locate General Zachary Harding?"

The pokemon's ovoid body parts bounced about and spun rapidly as it considered her request, and one of the 'eggs' finally shot up into the air with a high-pitched squeal. Babamon's eyebrows shot up like birds getting into a fight, and she let out a resigned sigh.

"They say he has actually gone home," she said, as she returned the pokemon. "Whatever the reason you wanted to look for him, son, it'll have to wait."

"But there's a load of goods for him to sign on," I protested, as I returned Silas. "Why can't I just go and get him, anyway?"

She grimaced. "You could, but..."

"I'll take my chances," I muttered, raising an eyebrow as I stared down at her – quite literally, given that I was over two feet taller than her. "Somehow, I doubt he's doing anything that urgent – it's a Saturday morning!"

"It's your funeral, kiddo."

"Whatever that's supposed to mean... thanks, Babamon," I waved at her as I left the vault.

xxx

Once again, the door to General Harding's apartment was unlocked.

Once again, I ended up going into his apartment.

What I saw inside, though, was definitely _not_ something I had ever seen before.

"Oh, my- Holy- _What the fuck?_"

General Harding was pinned against the wall of his kitchen by none other than General Fen, and the two of them had apparently been enjoying a round of tonsil hockey when I entered the apartment. It seemed like they had been getting quite into the game, too – their clothing formed a trail that lead from the apartment's door to the kitchen.

Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on how you viewed such situations – they hadn't gotten round to shucking their underwear, yet. Those little articles of clothing didn't stop them from grinding their bodies against each other like a pair of ekans preparing to mate, though.

Once again, my mind was screaming bloody murder over the fact that part of me found the scene to be nothing less than sizzling hot. General Fen, while shorter and of a smaller build than his... partner, had a wiry, muscled physique that was quite nice on the eyes.

The two of them, startled by my sudden appearance, broke the kiss and whipped about in alarm to face me. General Harding ended up banging the back of his head against the wall, but General Fen merely raised an eyebrow upon seeing me standing gob-smacked not ten feet from them.

"God damn it, Zachary – I thought you said no one would notice us missing!" he snapped, letting go of my boss. "And we were just getting started, too!"

"Not my fault the kid's a tenacious bastard," groaned General Harding, rubbing the back of his head. "How'd you find us, kid?"

"Babamon had an exeggcute-"

"Those bastard eggs? Hmph," General Fen muttered, as he stepped away from the kitchen and grabbed his uniform off the floor. "You totally ruined the mood here, kid."

"But- But, you two were-"

"Fucking?" he snorted. "Nah, we didn't make it that far today. Maybe some other time, when no one walks in on us getting things started."

I could only stare at him, wide-eyed, as he stepped forward with his clothes in his hands. He gestured for me to step aside. With a flick of his wrist, he let out a metagross that hovered in mid-air and nearly tipped the television set over. There was a flash of light, and the two of them vanished once the massive psychic-type had taken in the situation around it.

For a while after that, there was silence in General Harding's apartment. The two of us stared at each other, not knowing what to say or do next.

He was the one to break the silence, though, when he let out a sigh and began picking up his uniform. "Really, kid – did you have to remove my headache cure like that? It would've been quite funny if I wasn't involved in it, but still..."

"Sir, I didn't- I was- I wasn't planning to walk in on you!" I squeaked, burying my face in my hands and trying to come up with a coherent response to his statement. "I didn't mean to do that!"

"Well, what's done is done," he ran a hand through his hair. "Did you at least manage to enjoy the show while it lasted?"

I think my jaw left cracks on his floor when it dropped right then.

He smirked at me. "What, you think I didn't read your file? You're about as straight as an glameow's tail, kid. Unless the file is wrong – something highly unlikely, given how those bastards at Coronet do things."

I began breathing faster, feeling faint. "Sir, I might be... like _that,_ but-"

"_That?_" he scoffed. "Please, kid, do me a favour and don't insult the two of us – just say that you're gay, could you?"

I couldn't be sure of the exact moment when it happened, but I do believe that I fell into a dead faint right about then.

xxx

When I came back to consciousness, I was back in General Harding's office at port control. He and Adrienne were standing over me as I lay in his deckchair – Linda, if I recalled its name right – and he was holding a bottle of what looked like smelling salts.

"Kid, are you alright?" he asked, snapping the bottle shut. "Gave me quite a scare, you did."

"Umm..." I decided to check if I had been having a nightmare, after all. "I had this dream-"

"_If that 'dream' had my trainer nearly getting boned by Fen Siow Loong in it, then it wasn't a dream, dear,_" Adrienne said, as she turned around to face her trainer. "_You really should be more discreet, Zachary – first the janitor's closet, then the training area, and now this?_"

I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned, "So it _was_ real. Oh, my goodness..."

"Relax, kid," General Harding said, as he stepped behind his desk and threw the bottle of smelling salts into a drawer. "Your orientation's pretty much an open secret among the department heads, anyway."

"What."

"Well, we all noticed you tend to stare at us guys a bit," he said, with a smirk on his face. "And there was that incident with Don in the training area..."

I rolled my eyes. "Great, so everyone here knows that I'm a homo."

Surprisingly, Adrienne was the one to speak up next, "_And just what is wrong with being a homosexual, pray tell?_"

"Well, it's not normal-"

"_Normalcy is overrated,_" she sniffed, as the shellder on her tail glared at me. "_And I'm surprised that you still think of yourself that way._"

Before I could say anything more, General Harding spoke up in what was probably the softest, most serious tone I had ever heard coming from him. It seemed to bear more weight than the way he had spoken after Slenderman had announced the broadcasting of that illegal pokemon battle, and that was saying something.

"Kid, I'll spare you the lecture, so I'm just going to pass you a bit of advice; sometimes, being honest with yourself is difficult, but worth it."

With that, he returned Adrienne and turned to leave his office. However, he stopped in the doorway, and did an about-face.

"Trust me on that – it's a lesson that I'm still learning for myself."

He closed the door, leaving me with no company save for my thoughts.

xxx

Eventually, I did manage to track General Harding down and tell him that the dock workers needed him to sign-off on a shipment of goods. We headed down to the docks, and he was uncharacteristically quiet for once.

"Sir, are you alright?" I asked anxiously, as we stepped into the cargo elevator. "Is it because of what I said earlier?"

"Eh?" he looked a tad startled as he considered my questions. "Oh, it's nothing, kid. I can't blame you for thinking like that."

"So just what _is_ wrong, sir? You seem worried about something."

He shook his head. "It's nothing."

"You know what they say, sir – behind every 'nothing' there's always a 'something'," I deadpanned. "And if you don't want to discuss something, you can just say so – weren't you just telling me earlier that we need to be honest?"

"Whoa!" he whirled about and pinned me to the elevator's wall. "You seem to have grown some balls since we last talked, eh kid?"

I flinched and swallowed hard, as he fixated his icy blue eyes on mine – I swear, for a moment I thought I could see me own reflection in his pale irises. "If you say so, sir."

With a chuckle, he let go of me, and shook his head. "Ah, you're just a walking set of contradictions, kid. But I do like how you're beginning to talk back at me – keep it up."

"In that case, sir, what differentiates the army from a mob?"

"You mean to say that there are actual differences? I'll be damned!" he said with mock surprise, as the elevator's doors slid open to reveal several dock workers waiting expectantly next to a pile of crates.

Timothy Kirrin the chief mechanic stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "About damn time you got here, Zachary! I need those parts, and they can't let me have them without you signing on this lot!"

"Alright, alright," General Harding offered him an innocuous smile, holding his hands up. "I'll sign on the goods, just you wait..."

Something didn't seem right with him as he signed the forms necessary to get the crates opened, and my suspicions were confirmed when he and Kirrin whipped out a pokeball each almost as soon as he was done. The dock workers fled, leaving me standing not two feet away from two arguably insane men holding a pokeball apiece.

"Go, Rodrigo!"

"Mac, it's up to you!"

Light erupted out of the two pokeballs as both trainers let their pokemon out for the match. General Harding's ludicolo had barely managed to get its bearings before Kirrin's mightyena jumped on it and bit down on its sombero-like leaf. The large, frog-like pokemon squawked in pain and let loose with a veritable explosion of Leech Seeds in the dark canine's face, causing it to flinch.

"Mac, Howl!" Kirrin snarled, pumping his fist in the air.

"Drain Punch!"

"Fuck!" shouted Kirrin, even as General Harding's ludicolo sent his mightyena flying with two well-aimed punches. Mac let out a pained yelp and glared at the water-type, limping a little after the two-piece assault.

Without further prompting from his trainer, he threw his head back and howled, causing Rodrigo to stumble backwards. Mac then leapt at his opponent again, just as the disoriented ludicolo stepped forward and socked him across the muzzle with a fist that bristled with ice crystals.

"Drain Punch again!" commanded General Harding, as Mac jumped on Rodrigo's back and proceeded to claw at his head. "Oh, fuck it – take a dive!"

"Get off him, Mac!" Kirrin bellowed, but it was too late – the ludicolo had taken off and taken a leap over the dock's edge. A frantic yelp was all we heard before the two pokemon hit the water with a loud splash, causing him to shake his head. "Looks like you win this round, Zachary, heh!"

"Ah, it's no problem, Kirrin," General Harding grinned, as he let out a swampert. "Moivre old boy, could you retrieve Mac and Rodrigo for us?"

The towering mud-fish pokemon snapped his jaws in reply, and lumbered to the water's edge. He jumped into the sea, and seconds later, a ludicolo and mightyena flew back onto the dock, hitting the ground with an indignant squeak and whine, respectively. They didn't seem happy about being thrown back onto the dock like that, but when Moivre clambered back, they seemed to have changed their minds.

"I must say, there's nothing quite like a good pokemon battle to end a half-day's work, eh?" Kirrin gave us a wide grin before reaching out and pumping General Harding's hand in a terrific handshake. "Good show, man! Beer tonight?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," General Harding said sheepishly. "Just recovered from a hangover this morning, so I guess I'll avoid the liquor till next week at least."

"Ah, well," chuckled the huge mechanic, even as he returned his soaking wet mightyena. "Anytime you want a drink, give me a buzz, you hear? Always nice to have good company to go with the drinks!"

"I'll drink to that," General Harding smirked. "Tara!"

Only when he turned around and bumped into me did I get startled out of my reverie. All the while, I had been silently watching the pokemon battle with nothing short of amazement. It was mainly because well, it was a pokemon battle, but also because the pokemon had actually _acted on their own without instructions_.

"Meowth got your tongue, kid?" my commanding officer waved his hand in front of my face. "Hello, anyone home?"

"You didn't have to give instructions to your ludicolo," I pointed out, still somewhat awed. "I've never seen something like that, even when training wasn't banned."

He shrugged. "It happens, I guess. Most trained pokemon will learn to use whatever moves they've been taught in self-defence, so it's quite normal."

"Then why didn't it happen last time, during the league matches?" I asked, as we walked back to the cargo elevator.

"Well, let's just say that they tend to be just as excited as we were back then," General Harding said with a trace of wistful nostalgia in his voice. "Pokemon tend to behave like their trainers, you know. Given enough time, I'm sure the same would happen to you and Silas."

"Somehow, I doubt the possibility of that," I said flatly. "He hates me."

"And yet you two have a strong bond. Trust me, it'll work out," he said dismissively. "And now, since we'll be clocking out soon... want to see some old league videos?"

My eyes must have grown as wide as saucers. "League videos? Where?"

"Back at my place – I've got a couple of them stashed away for old times' sake," he smirked. "Well, they were the matches where Fen, Gary, and I were taking on the league, but I also had some other matches recorded."

"Once we clock out, sir?"

"Done."

xxx

As it turned out, the other room in General Harding's apartment was filled with all sorts of junk that he had picked up during his training days. Much like the bookshelves in his office, though, everything was neatly organized – something I suspect General Fen may have had a hand in. True to his word, there was a stack of compact discs labelled as 'League Videos' on one of the shelves.

They weren't quite as dusty as some of the other stuff in the room, which gave me the impression that he watched them more frequently than he might have cared to admit.

"Alright, so let's see," he picked up the discs and gave them a cursory glance. "You want to see the match Fen had against Drake? Class act, that one was."

"Why?" I asked curiously. "Wasn't Drake the dragon specialist?"

"Fen actually swept three of his five dragons with ONE pokemon," General Harding laughed. "But then, Drake's salamence stopped him cold."

"Let's do it, then," I grinned, imagining three dragon-types being knocked out by a single pokemon.

We popped the disc into his DVD player, and within minutes, the video had started. The two of us had to squeeze on his couch to watch it, but then again, you probably couldn't expect that much from a bachelor living alone with his team. General Harding let out Gary the gastrodon, Adrienne, and Ursula, who all appeared excited at the thought of watching one of the old videos.

When the video started, it was like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

A visibly shorter Fen Siow Loong stood on a battle platform opposite an elderly man in a long coat and a hat not unlike that of a ship's captain. Between them lay the battling arena, where a shelgon was already pacing slowly, flicking its yellow-eyed gaze in Fen's direction.

With a flash of light, a metang materialized on Fen's side of the arena. With a terrific bellow, the shelgon rushed forward, blue flames boiling out of the openings in its armour, even as the referee started the match. Fen's metang merely teleported behind it, and proceeded to clobber it in the back with what looked like several Ice Punches.

The shell-dragon let out a distressed screech, and kicked at the metang with its stubby legs, tail thrashing about like a bullwhip. Its retaliatory strikes were futile, though, as the metang's eyes glowed and the arena itself began shaking, knocking it out.

"Is that his metagross?" I asked General Harding, awed.

"Yup – before it evolved."

Drake seemed to consider the situation for a moment before releasing a flygon. The flying dragon glared at Fen's metang with its red-lidded eyes, before exhaling a massive stream of flames in the psychic's direction. Too slow to evade the attack, the metang took it head-on before teleporting out of the fire, and literally reappearing on the flygon's back. Before the desert dragon could buck it off, the metang dished out another Ice Punch, sending the two of them crashing to the ground.

By the time the dust had settled, Drake had already recalled his flygon, and Fen's metang was still hovering in front of its trainer. Three seconds was all it took for Hoenn's top Elite Four member to let out a kingdra, though. I leaned forward, eager to see how the metang handled this opponent. While kingdra was at a disadvantage due to the arena being devoid of water, it also wasn't weak against metang's Ice Punch.

Even as it began firing jets of steaming water at the metang, though, the arena began shaking once again, completely wrecking its aim. The continuous tremors seemed to resonate through the kingdra's very body, eventually causing it to collapse in a graceless heap.

Drake wasted no time at all – I almost jumped out of my seat when his salamence materialized and roared so loudly that the television set seemed to vibrate. Fen's metang was slammed into the ground brutally fast, the massive dragon biting down on its steely body even as flames leaked out of its fang-lined maw. The salamence shook its prey like a mightyena biting down on a bone, and threw the psychic through the air like a rag doll. It landed in a heap and didn't get back up, red eyes having dimmed upon impact.

The salamence let loose with a triumphant bellow that seemed to shake my very bones, and took to the air when Fen let out a mawile. His mawile lasted for all of ten seconds against the dragon, and the skarmory he sent out next didn't last for more than a minute, despite its impressive aerial manoeuvres. Salamence then proceeded to demolish the other half of his team with ease – a lucario, a magneton, and a forretress.

Even as Drake was declared the winner, General Harding nudged me in the ribs. "Realize something about the match?"

I thought about it for a moment, before finally catching on to what he was hinting at. "Both of them didn't say a word to their pokemon!"

"Exactly," he grinned, matching my facial expression. "Told you it's possible, didn't I?"

We went on and watched all of the other videos, including the ones where he got beaten by Steven Stone. Each match seemed even more intense than the last, and it was with a heavy heart that I watched the last of the match videos ending.

When General Harding ejected the last disc and the television reverted to its normal broadcast program, though, I felt my blood run cold. From the look on his face, he seemed to be having similar thoughts, too. None other than Slenderman was speaking to us from the screen, and it appeared that we had caught him halfway through a speech.

"- attempt on our agents' lives," the faceless being stated, shaking its head. "As such, we have decided to bring forward our one year plan to show the government that we do in fact mean business.

"Seeing as nothing has been done to rectify the situation with regards to the freedom of people to train pokemon, we shall be carrying out a demonstration at midnight, Kanto standard time. There will be... a regrettable loss of lives, but then again," Slenderman paused, "this is for the greater good."

With that, the screen went black, leaving us in shocked silence.


	16. Station

**Chapter 15 – Station**

Security was tightened up considerably all over Canalave after Slenderman made his announcement. If the radio announcements were true, the same could have been said of almost every city, given that the fiend hadn't actually named the location where the terrorists would be conducting their 'demonstration'.

All trains heading into and out of the terminal were screened by a team of psychic as well as electric pokemon that had been trained to detect explosives. Traffic came to a standstill as manned checkpoints were set-up along all of the major roads, whereas the smaller roads were simply closed-off. Patrol squads consisting of soldiers, pokemon, and digimon were ordered to sweep the city.

The government didn't want to take any chances with the terrorists, it seemed. When I thought about it, it was probably also due to that fact that they – the terrorists – had technically won the last tussle with the government over that illegally aired pokemon battle.

xxx

All of us non-combat personnel were summoned to port control within thirty minutes of Slenderman's broadcast. We were told that since a threat of this magnitude could not possibly be treated lightly – as if the current measures being taken were trivial – all available and capable personnel would be assigned to watch a portion of the city.

General Harding and I were sent down to the docks, where Kirrin and his crew of mechanics already had several of their best pokemon out and on the ready. Several digimon that worked there were also present, such as gesomon, octomon, and divermon.

"Alright, we don't know just where the hell those bastards are going to make their move, so we'll have to wing it," growled Kirrin, as he debriefed his men. "Port control may have sent General Harding down to monitor things, but we'll be forming the bulk of the dock's defences, right?"

Murmurs of assent were heard, even as General Harding gave Kirrin a thumbs-up. "You guys know the docks better than us anyway, Kirrin."

"Exactly," rumbled the chief mechanic as he shouldered a sledgehammer. "You guys may want to pick up a weapon that isn't a firearm, since we've got gas tanks down here."

After trying out a couple of tools that the mechanics offered us, General Harding wound up with a length of steel chain and I was given a shovel that had been stained black with coal dust. He let out Moivre the swampert to keep us company as we watched the dock's upper levels – Kirrin and his men were watching the lower levels together with the digimon.

"So, kid..." he said, as he scratched Moivre's head behind the fins, causing the large pokemon to let out a contented rumbling sound. "Looks like we'll just have to wait, eh?"

"I guess so," I shrugged. "It's only two hours before they'll do their thing, anyway."

"True, true," General Harding nodded. "Almost forgot that we were two hours behind Kanto, eh."

"Do you think they'll hit us here, though?" I asked, fidgeting a little out of nervousness. "We're a major port, but otherwise, we've got nothing worth destroying here, right?"

All General Harding did was look towards the distant horizon with a vacant expression on his face. "I really have no idea, kid. So looks like we'll just have to keep up a vigilant watch here."

xxx

Kanto standard time was two hours ahead of our time zone, and Slenderman had declared midnight to be the time for his little demonstration of terror. That would have made it ten at night in Canalave if the terrorists had decided to show their stuff locally, and so we all waited with baited breath for the clock to strike ten.

By nine-thirty, every form of vehicular transportation on earth had been shut down. Armed guards watched the trains and made sure that all civilians were safely confined in their homes as the clock counted down to twelve – or ten, if you wanted to use Canalave's time instead.

As it turned out, the _first_ demonstration began just shy of midnight – two minutes to twelve, specifically.

The news spread like wildfire over the radio channels – Lavender Town had been hit first. Apparently, the terrorists had detonated several explosives that had been planted all over the sleepy hollow, including several that were inside the radio tower. Just how the concealed bombs had managed to evade detection was anyone's guess, but what we did know was that Kanto's biggest radio broadcast tower had been significantly damaged.

Then, more reports came in regarding explosions at other cities – Goldenrod, Castelia, Hearthome, and Lilycove. All of the attacks had been on radio towers, and no terrorist agents had actually been spotted at the actual locations.

"All personnel remain on your guard!" snapped a cold voice on our miniature radio sets. "We don't know how long they'll keep this up, but hopefully we'll nab someone tonight!"

"Who's that?" I asked General Harding, even as we continued patrolling the dock.

"Sounded a little like Kingsley," he replied, as he peered around a corner before actually moving past it. "He's the grand admiral usually charged with propaganda and national security."

"Sounds contradictory," I muttered. "Controlling the media _and_ the lockdown?"

"Well, they do say that the pen is mightier than the sword," he shrugged. "And he's got an affinity to normal-type pokemon, so he has a handy mix of porygon and girafarig under his command. Cyber and psychic surveillance – hard to beat that combination."

Ten minutes had already elapsed since the attacks on the radio towers, and no terrorists had been apprehended yet. Some orders came over the radio to end the lockdown in several of the smaller towns, and we were instructed to remain on guard until morning in the larger cities.

"Patrol duty until tomorrow morning?" General Harding sighed. "Thank goodness it's a Sunday tomorrow."

"Think they'll attack again tonight?" I asked him, as I shifted the shovel I was carrying to my other shoulder. "They've already hit all five continents, and in major cities, too."

"I don't think so, but who are we to question-"

Panicked shouts came over the radio before he could finish his sentence, causing both of us to stare at the device. There was a sound not unlike the screeching you hear when a train is braking too suddenly, followed by even more panicked yelling.

"All personnel get on your guard!" said grand admiral Kingsley, his voice surprisingly calm despite the sudden situation that had arisen – whatever it was. "The terrorists are attempting to hijack several trains. Armed troops, pokemon, and digimon are moving in to detain them as I sp-"

A horrific sound of rending metal was heard, causing him to hesitate for a moment. "The hijacked train coaches have just been teleported out of their stations – it seems that they were detached from the others. All personnel remain on guard – we have no idea where they'll send them."

General Harding's eyes grew wide. "Well, fuck! Hijacking grounded train coaches by teleporting them? These guys are nuts!"

"Why would they hijack a train coach of all things, though? Not even the complete thing," I wondered, as I looked at the radio set curiously. "I mean, it's not like they have tracks to run them on, right?"

"I have no-" he was about to complete his reply, but instead tapped me on the shoulder and pointed towards the city centre.

I turned to look, and let out a startled cry upon seeing what he had caught sight of.

You might wonder just what we saw right then. Well, to put it simply, it was a train coach falling out of the sky, towards a cluster of buildings near the heart of town. It fell down onto the buildings, causing their upper levels to collapse as if they had been made out of cards. The impacted buildings shook ominously for a few moments, before they eventually gave way beneath the coach's weight.

And that was when the coach exploded. We barely managed to turn away from the blast, and were very nearly blinded by the bright flash of light. The sky above the crash site was lit-up with a sinister orange glow as the wreckage beneath it burned.

The radio set crackled once before a frantic voice came over it. "General Harding, to the Nublar building as quickly as you can, please! Fire-fighters are on the way, but we need water there, and stat – our roadblocks are working against us!"

He barely hesitated, despite the fact that he was probably still seeing spots after the explosion. "Come on, kid! Chuck the shovel and get Silas out when I tell you to!"

Adrienne materialized on the dock as he returned Moivre, and we each grabbed one of her paws as General Harding gave his orders. "To the Sorna building, Adrienne – the Klang building just got blown up!"

With a flash of light and the all-too-familiar tugging sensation that came with teleportation, we left the docks.

xxx

We teleported to the sidewalk somewhere about three blocks from the destroyed building, and narrowly avoided being cooked alive – the flames had already spread that far from their starting point. I recognized the area as the location of Canalave's fire-fighter headquarters, which explained why they weren't on the scene.

"Those bastards hit the fire station!" cursed General Harding, even as he unclipped all five occupied pokeballs from his belt. "Get Silas out, but hold on tight to him!"

The shadows cast by the dancing flames were briefly banished by the flashes of light as we let out our pokemon. I only had Silas, but I saw that General Harding had some of his toughest pokemon out. Adrienne, Moivre, Gary the gastrodon, Rodrigo, empoleon, and rotom all appeared before us, looking startled at the scene that greeted them.

"Hose down the fire!" he ordered. "Moivre and Pang-Pang, lead the way to clear rubble once the fires are out, alright! Kid, you stay on my tail to put out any remaining flames once we're inside."

"Got it, sir," I nodded, scooping up Silas in my arms. "You heard the man, Silas!"

He let out a high-pitched whistle of acknowledgement and stared at the fire with wide eyes as General Harding's team got to work on it. Several Surf attacks threw a damper on the flames quite rapidly, while Rodrigo the ludicolo started up a Rain Dance that enhanced the effects of his teammates' attacks. Within seconds, the closest of the flames had been doused, and the pokemon began working their way inwards.

"Stay close, kid!" General Harding instructed, as his swampert and empoleon began clearing a path through the rubble.

We made some decent progress, putting out the flames for about twenty feet before we ran into our first real obstacle.

Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that it ran into us.

A magmortar was casually feeding the fire as it strolled through the inferno, looking almost bored. Behind it, a magcargo was sluggishly doing the same, while a volcarona fanned the flames that its two allies were generating. They practically walked right into Moivre as he shoved the remains of a brick wall aside, causing him to stumble back out of shock. Before we could do anything, the magmortar discharged a Thunderbolt that sent Pang-Pang flying backwards with a screech of pain.

"What the- Moivre, Earthquake!" General Harding commanded, as his empoleon picked itself up.

The ground beneath our feet shook as Moivre beat down on the ground with both of his massive fists, causing the magcargo to faint right off the bat. However, the airborne volcarona wasn't affected, and retaliated on behalf of its teammates by unleashing a Hurricane that slammed into the swampert head-on.

"Smash it with Rock Slide!" snapped General Harding, even as the rest of his team finally caught up to us. The magmortar kept them back with several more Thunderbolts, at least until Moivre began throwing rocks at it and the volcarona.

Both of the fire-types managed to evade the rocky assault, and Moivre was knocked out when the magmortar picked him up with a Psychic and threw him into his teammates. The volcarona turned on us, but was attacked – surprisingly enough – by Silas.

Silas fired a cluster of icicles that were mostly melted by the time they hit the flaming moth, but which nonetheless managed to shred its wings pretty badly. It screeched in pain and fell out of the air, thrashing about as it landed on the soggy ground. A jet of water from Adrienne rapidly put it out of commission, causing the magmortar to zap her with a Thunderbolt. She fell to the ground in a twitching heap, paralyzed by the electrical attack.

"Finish the magmortar – Gary, Earthquake!"

Just as Gary sent a shockwave rippling through the ground, a wall of pure energy burst into existence between us and the blast pokemon, absorbing the impact of the attack. Once more, a Thunderbolt flew forward and hit one of General Harding's pokemon, knocking his empoleon unconscious.

I decided to join in the fight for real. "Silas, hose it!"

Silas eagerly complied, sending a stream of water in the magmortar's direction. The heat from its flaming body evaporated most of the water before it could get a good soaking, though, causing it to let out an angry growl and round on us. Gary's next Earthquake nailed it, but it remained standing, narrowly missing Silas and I with a Thunderbolt.

Out of nowhere, a brilliant beam of light lanced out of the flames and struck Gary, knocking the gastrodon out. A ninetales nimbly leaped over the fallen magcargo's prone form and exhaled a wave of fire in our direction, sending us back in the direction we had come from.

"Rodrigo, Surf!"

"Silas, Surf!"

Two columns of water surged towards the formidable fire-types, but failed to do much – the sheer heat being radiated by both pokemon was boiling most of the water before it could hit them. Billowing steam clouds formed around them, reducing visibility in the already smoky night.

"Rodrigo, Rain Dance!" General Harding ordered, as we cautiously stepped back, trying to see just where the two terrorist pokemon were.

Even as the steam cloud dissipated, the magmortar charged towards me and threw a punch at Silas with a fist that was sparking. I managed to sidestep the Thunder Punch, but it swung its other arm about and caught me across the chest with what felt like a red-hot pylon, narrowly missing Silas. I was sent tumbling to one side, until I crashed against a partially-collapsed wall.

"Surf!" General Harding yelled, as a light drizzle came down around us, dousing the flames. Rodrigo sent a water wave at the ninetales, which tried to jump out of the way but ended up getting splashed on its side.

Next thing we knew, a humanoid figure garbed in what resembled a biohazard suit was walking towards us through the flames that were still burning near the train coach's landing spot. Upon catching sight of us, it shouted and clumsily tossed two pokeballs into the air. A torkoal and a kadabra materialized not ten feet from where we stood, looking somewhat clueless.

"Get them!"

BANG! The torkoal collapsed in a heap as General Harding shot one of its stout legs out. Its psychic ally was quick to snap his arm in response, though, causing him to curse loudly as he dropped his gun. "Bail out, kid! The fire-fighters will be here soon!"

"No, sir!" I had to shout to be heard over the racket around us. "Silas, Icicle Spear!"

The kadabra teleported out of the way and the magmortar began physically grappling with Rodrigo, as General Harding picked up his firearm and tried to hit the mysterious figure in the dying flames. Meanwhile, I clumsily tried to draw my pistol without losing my hold on Silas, as the ninetales limped towards us.

It growled as it tried to use a fire attack while the drizzle from Rodrigo's Rain Dance persisted. Silas sent a jet of water at it, soaking it in the face, as I drew a bead on it. Without thinking, I pulled the trigger.

The recoil from the shot sent my arm jerking upwards, causing the bullet to graze one of its tails. The fox pokemon yelped and began convulsing, even as the kadabra materialized and grabbed my neck with a psychic grip.

Before it could snap my neck, though, Silas skewered it with several icicles. It shrieked in agony and staggered over to the ninetales, teleporting the two of them away.

"Thanks," I rasped, as Silas began firing water attacks at the magmortar.

However, we had all forgotten about the torkoal.

Despite having a busted leg, it had managed to drag itself towards the melee, exhaling great clouds of white smoke all the while. The little rain clouds that Rodrigo had summoned were rapidly boiling away as the tortoise-like pokemon approached, too.

"Get back, kid!"

"No!"

"That's an _order!_"

"Torkoal, Overheat!"

We couldn't do anything to stop it – the torkoal finally attacked with a colossal explosion of flame that very nearly engulfed us. I could feel the heat wave hitting me in the face like a massive, invisible hand, and Silas let out a terrified squeak as he tried to send some water attacks in the torkoal's direction.

Once again, the kadabra appeared, but this time, it teleported its trainer away. Rodrigo finally managed to knock out the magmortar with a Drain Punch, but collapsed himself not long after that. General Harding had actually been caught in the flames from the torkoal's Overheat, and was lying motionless on the ground not too far away from me.

"Sir!"

"Tor!" rumbled the last of those damned saboteur pokemon as it slowly brought itself around, belching out smoke.

What happened next was probably the biggest fluke I had ever seen in person – I fired at it, and at the same time, Silas used Surf on it. The force of Silas' attack slammed it backwards, and my bullet caught it on its back, cracking the armoured shell open. With a shudder, it collapsed to the ground, with noticeably less smoke pouring out of the openings in its carapace.

"Good job, Silas," I said hoarsely, my throat feeling as dry as sandpaper. "Now let's get to General Harding!"

With a squeak, Silas began clearing a path for us through what was left of the fire, until we reached General Harding. He had been knocked out by the blast during the Overheat, and his entire uniform had been signed. His skin looked as if it had been burned, but I wasn't good enough with first aid to recognize it even if it was.

I groaned, realizing that I had no way of getting him out of the area without recalling Silas and the rest of his team. "Silas, return!"

My shellder vanished in a flash of light as I recalled him into his pokeball, even as General Harding's rotom – the last conscious member of his team floated up to me and poked me in the back with a tubular, pipe-like arm. "And where were you all this while?"

It was then that I noticed the gashes all over its boxy body – clearly, it had gotten into a melee tangle with the ninetales. One of its arms was hanging limply by its side, and it was hovering in a lopsided manner. With a hissing noise, it floated over to its trainer, and reverted to its default form.

"Alright, I'm going to try and haul him out of here," I said, wincing as I felt my chest tightening – the magmortar had probably burned it when it struck me. "I'll be returning you and the others, alright?"

It took me all of fifteen seconds to recall all six of General Harding's pokemon, leaving me defenceless save for my firearm. The fire had mostly died down after the torkoal was knocked out, and in the distance, I could see the flashing lights and hear the sirens of a fire engine.

I knelt down and hoisted General Harding's unbroken arm over my shoulder. Sliding my free hand under his lower back, I slowly lifted him up. When his weight pulled down on my shoulders and put pressure on my chest, I very nearly dropped him due to the pain. Blinking rapidly to clear the tears that were welling up in my eyes, I grit my teeth and tried again, this time managing to lift him off the ground.

The fire engines were coming closer, even as I staggered towards the periphery of what had once been a raging fire. Several firemen jumped off their vehicles, and ran towards us once they caught sight of us.

One of them made it over just in time to grab hold of me before I fell to my knees, unable to withstand the pain any longer. Even as the man called out to me, I could feel the world around me spinning, and fading into darkness.

xxx

When I returned to consciousness, I was in a white room. I cracked an eye open and tried to turn my head, only to find that my neck was too stiff to do so comfortably – it made several popping sounds as I finally managed to get a view of what lay to my right.

General Harding was lying in the bed next to mine, hooked up to several intravenous lines and swathed in enough bandages to give him a mummy-like appearance from the neck downwards. His eyes were closed, and his hair had several singed patches.

That didn't make him any less attractive, though.

Deciding that sitting up might be a good idea, I tried to prop myself up on my elbows... only to find that my torso had been placed in a cast. The belated, throbbing sensation that made its presence known merely served to drive home the fact that I had a broken rib or several.

"Ah, good – you're awake," a raspy voice said, even as a familiar, tangled mass of stringy purple hair made its way into my peripheral vision. "How's it feeling down there?"

"I think I've got broken ribs," I deadpanned.

"Three broken ribs, to be exact," Dr. Esther commented, as she scrutinized something that resembled an X-ray film. "With some superficial burns on your chest, but it's nothing major, really. You'll have a mark left there once it heals, though."

"Hopefully it doesn't look too bad," I murmured, staring at the ceiling. "So how's General Harding?"

"Him?" she asked, as she walked over to his bed. "He's got a significant amount of superficial burns on his front, and a broken forearm. Other than that, he should be fine – just needs time to recover.

"And you, young man, are very stupid to have taken a hit from a magmortar like that. Why'd you jump in the way of it?" she glared at me from over her surgical mask.

"It was going to hit Silas..." I said, feeling my face flushing a little. "So I tried to dodge the hit, but got whacked instead."

She gave a sigh, and rubbed her already bloodshot eyes. "You trainers and these crazy antics will be the death of me... Didn't it occur to you that a shellder's shell is almost as hard as a diamond? Silas could've taken the blow and survived."

"His shell is _that_ hard?" I blinked. "Well, that's news to me."

"And now, if you'd kindly stay conscious, there's some people who'd like to speak to you sometimes soon," she said, as she walked beyond my field of vision. "I'll notify them that you're awake."

"Who is this?"

"Grand admiral Kingsley Desjardins," she replied, just as the room was illuminated by the flash of a teleport. "Speak of the devil."

"I am no devil, doctor," said the grand admiral, in the same voice that he had used while speaking to us over the radio. "But yes, the sentiment is applicable."

"The young man you wanted to speak with is awake, sir."

"Is he now?" a tall, whip-thin man stepped up to my bed. He was dressed in a pure white uniform, which matched the streaks in his hair. His eyes were shielded by a pair of aviator sunglasses, and his face was about as angular as a porygon – quite striking, given his affinity. "Hello there."

"Good day, sir," I said, trying to prop myself up.

He pushed me back down with a chuckle, though. "At ease, son. So, I hear stories from our good doctor here that you got hit by a magmortar?"

"I did, but..." a thought struck me. "How she knows is anyone's guess."

Desjardins shrugged. "Magmortar have a certain spiny texture to their arms. I presume your burns fit that pattern."

I paused for a moment. "Oh."

"Anyways, on to the main purpose of my intention to meet you – where did the magmortar come from?"

"It came from within the fire," I recalled. "There was this... person there. Wearing some kind of biohazard suit, I think."

"Hmm... And did the person have any other pokemon with it?"

I thought about it for a while. "A few – I think he had a magcargo, volcarona, ninetales, kadabra, and torkoal."

The grand admiral seemed to be mulling over my words. "And they were contributing to the fire?"

"It appeared so."

"Alright, that's pretty much all I needed to hear," he nodded. "So, I guess I shouldn't forget to mention that you're in line for a minor promotion."

All I could do was to stare at him. "Begging your pardon, sir?"

"You got your commanding officer out of danger's way, and towards the firemen. Apparently, he would've died if you left him there any longer, since the fire did come back to life for a while," said Desjardins, tapping the side of his head with his fingers. "So you're slotted for a promotion of some sort, and a commendation, too – I can't recall the details."

For a while, I just lay there, staring at him. "Sir, would that promotion... mean that I won't be here anymore?"

"Well, you'd still be Zachary Harding's assistant once he recovers."

"Could I turn down the promotion in favour of... something else, sir?" I asked, as an idea came to my mind.

He raised an eyebrow. "And just what is it that you seem to desire so much? Money? Sex? Holidays?"

I offered him a small smirk. "None of the above, sir – I would like to be able to understand my pokemon's speech."

After a brief pause, he nodded. "Given that you are willing to forego your promotion, I do believe that we could arrange something along those lines."


	17. Probing

**Chapter 16 – Probing**

It wasn't long before they came for us. Specifically, they came for our eyewitness accounts of the incident that had taken place no more than two days ago. We were still in the medical bay, having just finished our morning cup of coffee with Adrienne, when they came.

Grand admiral Kingsley Desjardins was the first to enter the room, followed by an elderly woman in a suit. She had her hair done up in a bun, and had piercing green eyes that had a surprisingly feline appearance. The door closed behind them, and we thought that they were the only ones coming to record our testimonies – after all, we were probably the only people to have seen the possible perpetrator of that night's destruction.

That was, until the room's door opened again of its own accord, and a wobbuffet shuffled in. It was wearing a pair of goggles, of all things, and was frowning widely as was the norm for its species.

"Shall we begin?" Desjardins asked the lady, causing her to nod. "Your wobbuffet is ready?"

"He is," she replied, patting the blue psychic pokemon's arm as she turned to regard me. "Zachary knows me already, but you probably have no reason to. I am Rolanda Cripshay, and I hold the position of chief medical officer at Pastoria city.

"Today I shall be taking your testimonies with regards to the recent terrorist activities in Canalave. My wobbuffet shall be assisting me in recording whatever details you can recall. We'll start with Zachary – state your name and rank, please."

General Harding did so, and she followed up with questions about what we had seen that night. She didn't spend more than ten minutes questioning him before thanking him for his time, though. The whole while, her wobbuffet stood by his bedside, completely motionless save for the occasional twitching at the corners of its massive mouth.

"Alright, now – it's your turn, young man. State your name and rank."

I recited my name and rank, and she went through the same questions that she had asked General Harding. For some reason, I found answering them to be a rather tricky task, since my memory seemed to have become blurred all of a sudden. Nonetheless, I tried to focus on the task at hand, and managed to supply an answer to all of her queries.

It was only when I had finished answering her that I realized that the wobbuffet had quietly moved up to my bedside during the questioning. The pokemon hadn't made a sound, but somehow, I got the impression that it was up to something.

"Umm, ma'am?"

"Yes?"

"I honestly couldn't really recall some details clearly just now – was it due to the wobbuffet?"

She cocked her head to one side, and offered me a small smile. "Why, of course. He was going through your memories of the incident as you spoke, to see if you might have omitted anything. It's the standard questioning procedure for such situations, really."

I frowned. "But didn't he make my memories blurred by doing that?"

"He knows what we need to know," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Now if you'll excuse me, I do believe we're done here. Thank you for your time."

With that, she and her wobbuffet teleported away, leaving Desjardins behind. The grand admiral merely shrugged in response to that, and turned to face us. "This is all rather interesting, don't you think?"

"How so, sir?" General Harding asked politely.

"Well..." Desjardins dragged the word out as he pulled a chair for himself and took a seat. "It seems that the terrorist used some considerably powerful fire pokemon during the attack. None of your pokemon were pushovers, and so the terrorist's ability to very nearly defeat your team despite a type disadvantage is hardly something we can ignore.

"Which of course brings us to the next logical deduction – how did the terrorist get hold of such powerful pokemon? We supposedly have records of all pokemon that are of such strength, and yet here we are."

"Sir," General Harding said. "What if the pokemon were not registered? A large number of trainers did go into hiding when we started the registration."

Desjardins nodded. "True, but we are discussing a possible type-specialist here. There weren't too many of those even during training's heyday, now were there?"

"Not really, I think... but fire is hardly a rare type among trainers," General Harding said, sitting up and wincing slightly as he put weight on his broken arm in its plaster cast. "Were there similar reports from the other continents, sir?"

"Similar, but not involving fire types," the grand admiral replied, looking out of the medical bay's window. "Kanto and Johto had rock types using the fires as cover to demolish buildings, and Hoenn had several ghost types wreaking havoc as the coach crashed down. Unova had some poison-types attacking the location of the attack, if the reports are accurate."

"They are well coordinated, and they possess significantly powerful pokemon... you're thinking that they came from the underground?"

"Precisely – those battle rings are probably where we'd find the last of the unregistered trainers."

General Harding turned to face me with a frown. "With all due respect, sir, I think looking there might be a waste of time."

"Oh?" Desjardins replied, his expression one of curiosity. "And why is that so, general?"

"The two of us – me and the kid here – have been down to the Canalave Underground often enough. We haven't seen any fire-types of that power down there which matched those used during the terrorist attack here in Canalave. Maybe we've seen one or two on the odd occasion, but never the likes of magmortar and ninetales."

The grand admiral shook his head. "At present, we don't think that the fire types came from here – we suspect they were brought in from Lavaridge, Cinnabar, or maybe even Stark Mountain. What I want you to do is to head back down to the Underground, and check out the pokemon which are listed here – all were seen using Flamethrower, mind you."

With a flick of his wrist, a small sheet of paper slid out of his sleeve and into the palm of his hand. He passed it to General Harding, who took it with his free hand. Upon reading it, his eyes widened in shock, and he turned to look at me.

"Kid, you'd want to come closer to look at this."

I sat up, biting back a wince as my recovering ribs shifted a little, and leaned over my bedside to look at the list of pokemon names. Once I had read it, I understood just why General Harding had been shocked by it.

Nidoking. Skuntank. Weezing. Seviper. Muk.

All four were rather common poisonous pokemon, really. But it was notoriously difficult to train poison-types to use Flamethrower without them hurting themselves rather badly in the process, and so few trainers actually taught it to their poisonous team members.

There was, however, a trainer down at the Underground who ran a team of poison-types. And surprise, surprise – almost his entire team knew Flamethrower. In fact, if my memory served me correctly, only his drapion was incapable of using it.

"Didn't we-"

"We have," confirmed General Harding with a grim expression. "Sir, why wouldn't you order an arrest right now? It would be much better than waiting for us to recover, no?"

Desjardins frowned. "We already had a spy sent down there – she managed to pass us rumors that the suspect was indeed there, but she ended up going missing in action before obtaining any concrete evidence."

"Looks like we'll be heading back down to the Underground once we get better, eh?" General Harding gave me a weak smirk. "Time to meet up with an old acquaintance, it seems."

I could only nod mutely – if our guesses were correct, General Harding's old friend and occasional bookie, Colin, was in for quite a nasty bit of business once we recovered and tracked him down.

xxx

I was discharged from the medical bay on the third day after the incident, and General Harding, two days after that. His right hand remained in a cast, which seemed to keep a damper on his spirits, but otherwise, he was just as hyperactive as he normally was.

He also claimed that temporarily not being able to use his right hand for certain 'bodily functions' was a mere annoyance, but I decided not to ask for a detailed explanation on that.

And so, we headed down to the Underground. As was our normal routine, we teleported down there – I could probably count the number of times I had walked there on one hand. Our destination was none other than Dolph's residence, since the Underground's de facto chief was one of the few who tended not to shoot people that teleported to his home as soon as they arrived.

When we arrived, Dolph was pouring himself a glass of whisky – expensive whisky, by the looks of the label, too.

"Ah, Zachary," he greeted. "Two more glasses? Or are you here on business this time?"

"Business, I'm afraid," my boss replied, as Adrienne cast a wary glance around Dolph's empty living room. "Upstairs claims that they sent someone down here, that went missing. Know anything about that?"

Dolph sipped his whisky, looking thoughtful. "They sent a spy down here?"

"Apparently, they did."

"Oh, I expect I remember her now," the Underground don smirked. "She was that amateur who stood out like a pink quagsire."

General Harding sighed, "They sent a newbie down here? What were they thinking?"

"You're the military man, you tell me – she won't be reporting back anytime soon, I'm afraid."

"And just what happened to her?"

Dolph shrugged. "We caught her, knocked her out, and used some Dream Eaters to modify her memories. I think she's working in Corneo's whorehouse now."

"Kid, this is why you should never send an amateur to do a professional's job," General Harding turned to me. "So, Dolph – just what was she after?"

"Colin, apparently," the don shrugged. "We couldn't get anything beyond that out of her mind... she might have been horrible at espionage, but her anti-psychic training was quite effective at jamming deeper mental probing."

"So, Dolph...just where _is_ Colin?"

"Why do you _want_ Colin?" countered Dolph, regarding us with interest over his whisky glass.

"I'm sure you're aware of the terrorist attack on the surface," General Harding replied conversationally. "Probably felt the shockwaves, didn't you?"

"We know about it, but we didn't feel anything down here. The walls are all reinforced three times over, anyway."

"Well, there were attacks on the other continents, too. One of them involved poison-types using Flamethrower."

Dolph frowned. "I see where this is going, and I don't like it one bit."

General Harding merely shrugged. "Tell us where Colin is, then – if he is innocent, then there wouldn't be anything to fear."

Ice cubes clinked against the bottom of the glass as Dolph emptied it and placed it on the same table as his bottle of whisky. His facial expression was an unreadable mask as he turned back to face us, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

"Colin is here," he admitted after some time. "However, I can assure you that he is innocent in all this."

"How sure are you, Dolph?" General Harding asked. "His team fits the description which we were given, and I'm sure you know how hard it is to train a poison-type to use Flamethrower."

"On the night of the attacks," Dolph said, "we were all at the marketplace, watching that jury-rigged projection set we have there. We saw the radio towers being attacked, and the train coaches being hijacked. All broadcasted by the terrorists, as I'm sure you're aware.

"Colin was with me the whole time, so he couldn't possibly have been upstairs, let alone on another continent. Obviously, he wouldn't loan out his team – you know how much he treasures them."

"Nonetheless," General Harding insisted, "we shall need to see him. I'm sure that you understand?"

Dolph sighed, and nodded. "Indeed I do, Zachary – and it is only on the basis of our friendship that I am not killing you for not taking my word for it. I'll take you to him – his muk nearly ate that woman when she got close to him."

We followed Dolph into one of the back rooms of his home, which had several closed doors in it. He stepped up to one of them, and rapped on it thrice with his knuckles.

"Colin, you have visitors."

Some muffled sounds came through the door, and seconds later, it was opened from the inside. Colin stood in the doorway, wearing his usual vest and cargo pants. His spiky hair was even more dishevelled than it usually was, and that was saying something. Dark bags under his eyes were ample proof that he hadn't been getting sufficient sleep, but the eyes which they hung beneath were as bright as searchlights.

Colin might have been sleep-deprived, but he definitely wasn't letting his guard down, it seemed.

"Colin," General Harding nodded. "Good to see you here."

"The pleasure's mine," he said slowly in reply. "To what do I owe it?"

"We heard that you were being followed, and that your muk nearly had a snack. Care to elaborate?"

The poison specialist leaned against the doorframe, and shrugged wearily. "Stupid woman's getting stuffed now at the brothel, I think."

General Harding rolled his eyes. "Not _that_ part, Colin. Do you know why she was after you?"

"Stupid cunt claims that I was responsible for the attack on Unova," Colin snapped. "No such thing, of course – I was watching Canalave get attacked, down at the marketplace."

"And what was your team doing then?"

"With me, obviously," said Colin. "They're too temperamental for anyone else to handle them."

As if on cue, there was a flurry of movement in the room, as his skuntank sidled up to its trainer. The partial dark-type gave us the evil eye as it wrapped its bushy tail around his legs, causing him to bend down and stroke the fur on its back.

"Really, Zachary – why would I throw my lot in with the terrorists?"

"You're an opportunist, Colin, and you always have been. Need I say more?"

"And what opportunity do you think presented itself, then?"

General Harding looked at him thoughtfully. "I honestly wouldn't know. But unless you can name someone else who has a near-identical team of poisonous pokemon that are proficient in using Flamethrower, your ass is hardly covered now, is it?"

Colin ran a hand through his hair, rendering it even messier than it had originally been. "That's the problem, Zachary – it's frankly too much of a coincidence. Get your slowbro to read my mind if you really doubt it."

"_He's innocent, as far as I can tell,_" Adrienne said helpfully, drawing several curious looks. "_What? I've been discreetly probing him since he opened the door._"

"That just leaves us with an even greater mystery, then," General Harding sighed. "Would you happen to know of anyone else who taught their poison-types Flamethrower?"

Colin scratched the back of his head. "Only one other person, really – he and I taught our poison pokemon together. Last I knew he was killed before we unregistered trainers escaped to the Underground."

We didn't stick around for long after that – after all, there wasn't much evidence to be gained in trying to pursue a dead man now, was there? So we ended up heading back to port control and filing a report that was sent to grand admiral Desjardins, even though there really wasn't anything of real significance in it.

Despite the fact that Adrienne had carried out a psychic probe on Colin, I couldn't help but feel that something was amiss. Something just didn't seem right about the whole deal – sure, he might have known another poison specialist that was missing and presumed dead, but how could two trainers' teams be so similar? The whole affair was unsettling, to say the least.

When I voiced my concerns to General Harding, all he did was dismiss it, citing the reliability factor of a psychic probe.

"Spies normally have thorough anti-probing training," he had said, "and while Colin himself is no slouch at shielding himself was unwanted probing, Adrienne tells me that he did open up for her. So looks like the hunt will be on for that supposedly dead man."

"How would they know how to track him down?" I asked. "Did she pull those memories out of his head, too?"

"She did," he confirmed. "So the ball's now in the admiralty's court, I guess."

That seemed to settle it, and so I let the matter rest. We weren't intelligence operatives, and so our access to the records necessary for such manhunts was limited. The admiralty and Game Masters, however, were all capable of accessing practically any information that was available within the military, and so they would've been more suited to the task at hand, anyway. So I let it drop.

If only I had known then how close my earlier suspicions had been to the truth.

xxx

Things changed noticeably after the terrorist attacks. For one, security was tightened all over the place, making it near impossible to go anywhere without running into at least one security patrol group. Each group consisted of a soldier, a pokemon, and a digimon, making them tricky customers to get past, indeed.

If that sounded bad, imagine how things were like at the docks, train terminal, and other transit points – armed troops were stationed at all those locations around the clock. Everyone that wanted to go into or out of the transports was screened thoroughly, and anything even remotely suspicious reported even before the suspected terrorists were detained.

And to think that the arrests usually came within thirty seconds of the suspected individuals being spotted.

In addition to that, we began seeing more digimon troops about the place. As far as my memory went, we hadn't seen this many of them since the last days of the Revolution, when they were beginning to ship out in phases. Be it the ghoul-like bakemon and soulmon that roamed the streets or the disgusting numemon and sukamon that patrolled the sewers, digimon seemed to be everywhere.

When they turned in for the night in their specialized sleeping chambers – hovering mechanical monstrosities that were located near the city centres – the city was like a ghost town.

Within a month of the incident, more than half of Canalave's nocturnal business enterprises had been shut down due to a lack of patronage. While there wasn't a specific curfew being enforced – yet – few dared to wander the streets at night, thanks to the numerous patrol groups that kept the streets occupied. Most of the smarter proprietors began offering teleportation services to their regular customers, and so managed to cut their losses in the wake of the terrorist attacks.

No longer did the streets receive illumination from electrical lamps alone when night fell – groups of lampent and litwick were often part of the night patrols. During the day, tangrowth and ivysaur were common sights at street corners, along with various digimon.

And so, we settled down into an uneasy, controlled lifestyle, where someone had their eyes on us as long as we remained outdoors.

xxx

Meanwhile, the terrorist investigations were still ongoing. All personnel at port control were questioned at least once, including General Harding and I. Even the custodial crew were briefly put through a lightweight interrogation over their whereabouts on that one night, and Mary the receptionist was actually seen leaving her mug of morning coffee without putting up a fight for once.

Obviously, all of that made the task of obtaining evidence to be used against General Harding even more difficult than it had been to begin with.

While Silas and I were still allowed down at the vaults, the higher-ups had assigned a soldier and a pokemon to keep tabs on Babamon's activities. So when I left Silas at the vault, there was only so much he could do, really. I myself couldn't glean that much information from the archives department – Persiamon had been assigned a similar set of security agents as Babamon (though I think hers suffered more than Babamon's thanks to the pungent odor of hairspray that permeated the archives department).

So we ended up getting next to zero evidence that could be used against my beloved boss. The only upside to the whole situation was that if we could uncover any dirt on him, the authorities would probably whisk him away in the blink of an eye. And of course, corruption was suspected to be the terrorists' means of obtaining funding for their activities, which would lend more weight to the charges that I could potentially bring up against General Harding.

As an old song once went, the times they were a-changin'.

xxx

"- can you hear me?" a somewhat distorted voice asked, as I opened my eyes.

I tried to answer, but my throat felt as though a fistful of glass wool had been shoved down it. So I settled for nodding in response, instead.

"Can you speak to me?" the voice asked, sounding less distorted but still leaving me in the dark about its owner's gender.

Grimacing, I shook my head and tried to speak again; all that came out was a hoarse croak.

"It's a side-effect of the anaesthetic... you just need a drink. Anyways, can you see me?"

I looked up, and saw a blurry face swimming into my field of view. It seemed to be decked on in a surgical cap and mask, with what looked like a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles. A nod from me caused the person to let out a satisfied grunt.

"So, the procedure went very well, and you'll be hearing your pokemon speak to you once the chips are activated," he commented – now that my hearing was coming back to me, it was definitely distinguishable as a male voice. "You'll be up and running in no time, though your dinner might taste a little like cardboard."

All I could do was nod again, as a minor headache flared up and caused me to wince.

"Can you get yourself up? It's alright if you're a little uncoordinated, since the anaesthetic's still partially in effect."

I tried to move my arms, and succeeded. Shifting them backwards, I slowly propped myself up on my elbows, and sat up. True to the doctor's word, I could feel my arms being a little wobbly and numb, but for the most part they were functional. As I finally got myself into a fully upright position, I felt the world swimming a little around me – clearly they had put me under with some strong stuff.

"Alright – I'll hold up fingers, and I want you to do the same, alright?" the doctor said, coming closer. He held up three fingers. "How many am I holding up?"

While I stumbled a little, I managed to hold up three fingers for him to see. Satisfied, he took out a flashlight and began examining my eyes.

"Well, everything seems normal, so you're free to go once you can walk a straight line without collapsing," he said, laughing to himself as though he had made a great joke of some sort. "So, be sure to get something to eat soon, alright? I've told the cafeteria staff to set a small meal aside for you – tell them Dr. Song sent you."

He left the room, leaving me sitting on the bed with a headache. After a few minutes, my disorientation began to clear up a little, and so I decided to try stepping off the bed... only to fall flat on my face. And the floor was a hard linoleum floor, to boot.

My throat was too dry for me to even try to groan, so I decided to check if my nose was broken. Thankfully, it wasn't, so I began the task of getting back on my feet.

When I got to my feet, I saw that the bed was really the only thing in the room save for a small table on wheels, that was loaded with various surgical instruments. So I decided to head out of the door, which the doctor had thoughtfully left open for me.

Upon stepping out of the door, I saw that I was in one of the main corridors of the Canalave hospital. Shrugging to myself, I decided to walk down to the cafeteria – there were numerous signs at regular intervals along the corridor that helpfully showed the way to it.

As I walked along the corridor, I received quite a few stares and heard quite a few giggles. Apparently, getting an improvised mullet thanks to the surgery made me look funny, or something like that – my hair had been quite the shaggy mess before my surgery. Deciding that I would check out my 'new' look after I got something to eat, I continued on my walk to the cafeteria.

The stares and giggles continued all the way to the cafeteria, to my bewilderment – surely the haircut the doctor had given me couldn't be _that_ bad?

xxx

When I arrived at the cafeteria, it was mostly empty save for a few nurses and doctors. No patients seemed to be in sight, other than myself. Heading for the counter, I called out to the blissey behind it.

"Umm, I was told that I had a meal ready here by Dr. Song."

The egg pokemon nodded happily, and reached under the counter. It brought out a plate of rice with some vegetables and a small omelette on the side, and that had been wrapped in cling-wrap. With a smile and a happy chirp, it handed me the plate.

"Thanks," I smiled at the blissey. "Umm, could I have a spoon?"

"Bliss!" the pokemon giggled, as it smacked itself in the forehead. Once again reaching under the counter, it dug out a plastic spoon and fork. "Blissey!"

"Ah, thanks," I nodded, as I took the cutlery from it. "By the way, is the haircut that bad?"

It regarded me for a second, before shaking its head with a smile. "Blissey."

Apparently, the chips weren't activated yet. "So it's not that bad, huh? Thanks!"

The pokemon beamed at me as I left the counter, making me wonder just why everyone had been staring and giggling at me all the way to the cafeteria.

That is, until one of the doctors who was eating called out to me, "Hey, kiddo!"

"Yes?" I looked up from my freshly-unwrapped meal.

"Just so you know, hospital gowns are open at the back," he said with a smirk.

With a start, I turned about to check my back, almost tipping my plate over in the process of doing so. Upon seeing for myself that the doctor had been right, I couldn't help but let out a groan.

Well, some of the people I passed might have been laughing or staring at the haircut, but apparently I had unintentionally mooned most of the hospital's population on the ground floor.


	18. Doubts

**Chapter 17 – Doubts**

Port control was no longer as welcoming or homey as it once had been – and that hadn't been very much so to begin with. As I might have told you once or twice before, even the likes of Persiamon and Babamon were put under surveillance. Initially, the surveillance groups consisted of a human soldier and a basic pokemon, such as a gastly, growlithe, or houndour. However, within a week of the terrorist attacks, numerous containers loaded with larval digimon resembling black caterpillars were shipped into all the major cities, with orders from up above.

Apparently, they were called dokunemon, and they were to replace pokemon on all the indoor surveillance details. The admiralty and digimon higher-ups also made it a point to stress that dokunemon were all capable of scaling walls and ceilings, as well as rendering themselves completely invisible for extended periods of time.

Alas, they were very weak physically, but the human soldiers that accompanied them were a sufficient compensating factor, it seemed.

General Harding had watched impassively as the dokunemon assigned to patrol the third floor crawled up onto the ceiling and vanished from our sight. With a sigh, he had shrugged and turned away from its apparent location, heading back to his office.

When I followed him into his office and shut the door behind me, he had turned to me with a frown.

"This isn't good at all."

"And why would that be so, sir?"

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "No one seems to realize it yet, but humans and pokemon are losing it. Given enough time, you'll see what I mean."

I was bewildered. "What are you talking about, sir?"

"I'm talking about power, kid. The digimon are taking more and more of it away from us over time," he said quietly, staring out the window at the sea. "Mark my words, there will probably come a day when no humans will hold any ranks in the government – especially if the terrorists keep their act going."

If we had once thought that things were bad immediately after the attack, we certainly thought that they were horrible by the time the dokunemon were deployed in every government facility. After all, being watched by something that you could see was one thing, and being spied on by invisible eyes was a whole new can of worms.

Pun entirely intended in that last statement of mine, for the record.

xxx

I frowned at the page that I was reading.

The reason for me doing so was simple – Tammy Silvas' file simply seemed to lack everything that should have been in it. Her entire service record at Canalave was brief to the point of being utterly useless for any history-taking on her, and the tentacool incident itself was only mentioned in passing.

Specifically, the deaths of she and her starter were written-off as being due to 'mishandling of venomous pokemon' and 'natural death due to bacterial agents'. It was kind of a letdown when you considered how tedious it had been for me to gain unsupervised access to the archives, really.

Well, admittedly the dokunemon and guard that had been assigned to watch Persiamon weren't too keen on lingering about her hairspray-scented domain for prolonged periods of time. That did make evading their scrutiny a little easier, but not much on the whole.

With a sigh, I shelved her file, mere seconds before Ford the ariados scuttled over the top of the shelf to check on me. He clicked his mandibles several times while narrowing his eyes at me, finally disappearing with a rattling sound. Quietly, I made my way out of the archives department. It seemed that even Persiamon's pokemon had their eyes on me, if Ford's behaviour was any indication.

Or maybe I was just getting paranoid.

xxx

As it turned out, my translator chips were activated once they had processed a certain amount of pokemon speech. That did explain why I hadn't been able to understand the blissey in the hospital cafeteria, and also the other pokemon at port control once I got back. When I later asked Babamon about it, she told me that the chips were designed as such to allow them to synchronize with the user's brainwaves or something like that – apparently, not all pokemon speech could be translated directly due to the differing speed of communication and frequencies at which they talked.

Still, it didn't stop me from nearly going crazy when they first activated themselves. A word of advice if you're thinking of getting translating devices – you might want to avoid really crowded places until you get a little used to them. The chips made it sound like a voice was speaking in my head, and there was obviously no volume control on them. See why I'm warning you about them?

Actually, the first few words of translated pokemon speech that made it to me were from a pair of lopunny that I passed in the mess hall. I had been heading to a table with my tray of lunch when I crossed their paths, and I nearly thought that I was dreaming or having some kind of hallucination.

"_Ooh, so he's the one with the chips!"_ one of them had giggled, nudging her companion when she saw me heading in their direction. _"It's that haircut again."_

The other lopunny had given me a glance, and then let out a giggle. _"He'd be cute if he wasn't a human, really."_

Any thoughts or doubts I might have had as to the reality of the whole scene were thrown right out of the window when she pinched my butt as I passed her.

xxx

I was in the water pokemon vault – distracting Babamon while Silas casually went about asking questions about Zachary Harding and Tammy's tentacool – when the chips kicked in, and the resulting surge of translated pokemon speech made it feel like a bomb had exploded inside my head. See, the chips didn't produce sounds on their own – they merely processed any sound that passed through them, and transmitted the modified signals to my auditory nerve. So it was like hearing voices in my head, really.

Now, imagine hearing a whole group of gossiping finneon and goldeen fry all at once. Yes, you heard me right... I had no less than thirteen pokemon all talking at once, and the chips happily decided to start functioning in earnest.

"_Did you see that seaking?"_

"_When is feeding time, again?"_

"_He looks so dreamy..."_

"_Join my anti-Babamon campaign!"_

"_Who did that?"_

"_I think my scales are getting dry..."_

"Argh!" I clapped my hands over my ears, trying to shut-off the terrific din that was being generated by the swarm of tiny fish pokemon. "Stop it!"

"Stop what?" Babamon asked obliviously and sounding a little muffled through her scarf, as she turned away from those annoying fishes and turned to regard me with a curious expression. Upon seeing my hands over my ears, though, she began laughing. "Oh, I take it that the chips have kicked in?"

"Yes..." I hissed, glaring at the noisy fry in the pool. "Could you get them to shut up, please? It's like a pair of loudred are having a shouting match in here..."

Babamon shrugged, even as she began speaking louder to get past the hands over my ears – and making my headache a little worse in the process of making herself heard. "Well, it's their day to get exercise, so you'd have to wait a while... maybe we'll step out of the vault for a bit."

"Alright," I nodded, still covering my ears as we left the vault. "That sucked balls, really..."

"Watch your language, young man!" Babamon said waspishly as she brandished her cane. "Don't make me tan your hide, eh!"

Fortunately for me, her assigned guard and dokunemon made it back from their break just about then, allowing me to take my leave of her without getting a hiding.

xxx

Once the throbbing in my head had died down a little bit, I went back into the vault with Babamon to pick Silas up. He had already been in there for about three hours, and we had agreed that spending too much time in the vault would probably cause the other personnel at port control to get suspicious.

I let out a relieved sigh upon seeing the group of finneon and goldeen watching me silently with their big eyes. "Phew, they've shut up now..."

"Not for long, alas," the elderly digimon shook her head. "They're still very hyperactive at this stage, I'm afraid. Maybe in a few weeks, we'll see them becoming a little more settled down."

"Oh, alright – Silas, where are you? It's time for us to leave Babamon in peace!"

"_Alright already – I'm coming!"_

Even though I had already talked to him once back at Snowpoint, I froze on the spot. It really was one thing to use a headset to talk with him, and another to actually be able to hear what he was saying. All I could do was to blink like a noctowl, even as Silas scooted out from behind a tank where he had been talking to some other water pokemon.

"_I'm here,"_ he said, as he waved his tongue in the air to draw my attention. _"Why are you looking stoned?"_

"I can understand you," I said, still somewhat in awe over the chips' translating ability. "And without a headset, too!"

"_Indeed – you got some screws tightened up there, instead."_

"Hey, I heard that – I don't have any loose screws up there!" I swatted him on the back of his shell, noting that Babamon had left the vault for a smoke as I did so. "Anyway, did you get anything on him?"

Silas stuck his tongue out and made a short whistling sound. _"I couldn't get anything new from the vault. In fact, that wooper I talked to just now said that he was actually trying to get some information out of the tentacool before it died."_

I frowned – this new bit of information would certainly change things if it turned out to be true. "So he might not be the tentacool's killer?"

"_Yes... Everything I've got on him so far suggests that aside from being a hyperactive and corrupt bastard, there's nothing we can really hold against him. Anything useful on your end?"_ Silas asked, looking up at me.

Just as I opened my mouth to answer him, Babamon stepped back into the vault, tucking her lighter and pack of Marlboros back into her robes as she did so. Quickly picking Silas up and shutting my mouth to avoid looking like a goldeen, I waved cheerfully at her with my free hand.

"I'll be heading out now, Babamon. Thanks for watching him," I called out to her as I headed for the door.

"Oh, Silas is a darling," she said, patting his shell with a smile. "Much better behaviour compared to some of those hooligans that Zachary has on his team, he is. Take care, young man!"

I shook my head as I exited the vault. "General Harding's team and hooligans being mentioned in the same sentence... Why am I not surprised?"

"Well, he wouldn't be Zachary Harding, otherwise," she laughed. "Oh, and another thing before you go?"

"Eh?"

"I'd get a haircut, if I were you. A mullet really doesn't go with that abnormally long face of yours."

"... duly noted."

xxx

I looked at my reflection in the barbershop's mirror with an expression that probably stood somewhere between awe and horror. The military barber, while used to giving buzz-cuts, was actually quite a flamboyant person by nature. And that probably explains just why I was all shocked and goggle-eyed in his shop's swivel chair to begin with.

"So, how's it look?" he asked, as he whipped the sheet he had wrapped around me off. "Long faces are generally tedious to work with, but I think we have a winner, here!"

"It's..." I gawked at my reflection. "It's nice."

"_You look like a cancer patient who's on the losing end of the battle against chemotherapy. Or maybe a patient suffering from some terminal disease,"_ Silas chirped happily. _"You wouldn't happen to actually have any of those, do you?"_

The barber straightened up indignantly. "Excuse me? Are you mocking my artistry?"

"_Or you'd do what, Captain Queer?"_ laughed my shellder, as he narrowed his eyes at the barber. _"Just don't flash me – I think I'd go blind."_

"Blasphemous shellder!" squawked the barber, as he leapt at Silas with a hairbrush in his hand. "Be gone!"

"Hey, that's my shellder!" I jumped out of the barber's chair and grabbed his ponytail, just as Silas used his tongue to vault off the table which he had been sitting on. The barber slipped and fell backwards, cursing loudly as he crashed into me. We both ended up crashing to the ground in a graceless heap, with him on top of me.

"_Take this, you faggot!"_ cried Silas, as he fired a jet of water at us. He hit his mark, soaking us through, and the fucking water was _cold._

The barber flipped himself over, and clouted me upside the head with his hairbrush. "Pulling my hair, eh? Take that!"

"He's a shellder, for fuck's sake – leave him alone!" I snapped, as I slammed my forehead into his chin, sending him reeling backwards. If there's one thing that can be said about my body, it's definitely the hard head. "As for you, Silas – return!"

With a flash of red light, Silas vanished into his pokeball, leaving me alone with the angry barber. He got up and dusted himself off, glaring at me the whole while.

I got to my feet and smiled brightly at him. "How much would that be, again?"

xxx

"Wow," General Harding gawked at me as I entered his office. "Nice haircut, kid."

"Thanks," I murmured, as I deposited the armload of files I had picked up at the fourth floor on his desk, and released Silas. "Silas just had to insult the barber, though."

"_The faggot had it coming,"_ sniffed Silas disdainfully. _"He should wear a big sign saying 'I'm a fruitcake', he really should!"_

General Harding laughed, "Nice one, Silas! What about your trainer, though?"

Silas stuck his tongue out and flicked it in my direction. _"Eh, at least he appears straight. Though now he looks like a straight person that's dying and has been given chemotherapy."_

"My goodness..."

"_Or maybe he looks like the bastard child of a tangela and a human. I'm not picky with what I use to insult him, really."_

"Eh?" General Harding gave my haircut a good look. "Tangela? Where did that come from? Looks more like a bisharp or something... maybe it'll be nicer once it grows out."

I rolled my eyes. "Alright, now can we get to work? It's bad enough that I've been getting stares all the way from the fourth floor back too this room. Now it's you two getting on my case?"

"Ah, well – you can't expect me to give you a chance now, can you?" General Harding wagged a finger at me with a smirk. "It'll look good once it grows a little shaggier, though. So just be patient, and we'll find something else to bother you with."

"Thanks, I guess," I muttered, as I took a seat and opened the first file. Perking up when I saw what was inside it, I shoved it towards General Harding. "Oh, and you'll need to read this entire requisition order carefully before signing on it."

"Mother-"

xxx

That night, when I finally got back to my dorm room and out of my uniform, I sat down on my bed and stared out of the window. For once, it wasn't a cloudy night – Canalave tended to be cloudy or foggy, depending on the time of year – and so the sky itself was visible. Stars were scattered all over the black sky, and there was a full moon.

Briefly, my mind flitted back to the lessons I had taken in high school, and to an old proverb about beauty. The proverb had made the analogy of beauty using a full moon 'swaddled' in stars, and for the first time in a long while, I was able to appreciate its meaning.

Silas scooted over from where I had released him onto my bed, and flopped himself onto my lap. Usually, he went to sleep before I did, but he seemed to be a chatty mood right about then. So I indulged him.

_"So, what else have you found out about our dear general?"_ Silas asked me. _"Babamon interrupted us just now, she did."_

"Well..." I frowned. "There's very little I could find on Tammy Silvas, really. Her file in the archives department felt as if it had something missing, but I honestly can't say for sure. The tentacool case itself wasn't well documented..."

"_Another dead end, then,"_ Silas huffed.

I sighed. "Looks like it."

For a short while, the room was silent save for the ticking of the tiny alarm clock that sat on my desk. In the darkness, it felt as though we had slipped away from the world of the living, and into a place where only the passage of time seemed to make a sound.

"_Tell me about yourself, trainer,"_ he said, as he looked up at me. _"Since we're stuck together, might as well get to know each other better before we kill each other."_

I smirked as I rapped my knuckles on his shell, eliciting a purr from him – it was something General Harding had recommended, since it apparently was like a back massage for shellder. "I'll give you the first shot, Silas."

"_Hmm, I'm trying to decide if that means I have permission to kill you when the day of our inevitable confrontation comes. I was born somewhere off the coast of Sunyshore, and got caught shortly after that. Your turn, trainer."_

"Who said we were playing twenty questions?"

He opened his shell a little, and glared at me. _"Unless you want a very wet dream tonight, you'd best play the game, my dear trainer."_

I sighed, "I'm starting to wonder just which demented soul taught you how to use human slang, Silas. Anyways, I was born in Jubilife. Your turn."

"_What kind of lousy answer is that? A drunk spinda could probably do better than that,"_ he huffed. _"Alright... I was in the vault of some pokemon professor for a few months before the revolution started. Then I eventually got sent here, and assigned to you, of all people."_

"Wow, so you're more than three years old, and you know how to use similes?" I blinked. "You shellder live for ages, anyway... Hmm, I actually have a high school education."

"_Ah, so you're not as dumb as you appear to be – you actually know what a simile is!"_ Silas chirped. _"My turn, then... You do realize that I hate you, right? I wonder just why you put up with my antics."_

"And yet you haven't poisoned me," I reminded him, as I lifted him off my lap and lay down on the bed. "We can still work together even if we hate each other, anyway. As for the reason why I tolerate you... well, you're basically the only person or pokemon that I've got."

"_That's pathetic – you're trying to tell me that you don't know anyone else at port control?"_ he let out a whistle as I dropped him onto my chest. _"Oh, wait... yeah, I know the answer to that one. You are a sad case, trainer. You really are."_

"Nothing much that can be done about it, now, is there? And I never was a party animal, anyway," I shrugged, looking up into the darkness that was the ceiling. "They did say that the path to success was a lonely one..."

Silas seemed to consider that statement for quite some time before he spoke up again. _"They also said that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but that's not relevant to us right now. So tell me... just why are you trying so hard?"_

"Eh?" I was beginning to get drowsy – just one of those things that happened to me when I was still for too long in a quiet place, really. "What did you say?"

"_You said it yourself; the path to success is a lonely one. So why are you trying to do all this... nonsense like getting Harding charged with murder? Do you actually want to be alone or something?"_

"It's not like that," I murmured, closing my eyes. "You probably won't understand my motives, anyway. Just go to sleep, Silas."

"_Hell no,"_ he retorted, slapping his tongue on my chest. _"If you're going to make me do some of your grunt work to get Harding booted out, I'm going to want to know why you're so set on it."_

"Is it too much to want to make something of myself? Can't I want to stand out from everyone else?" I shifted a little towards the wall. "If there's one thing I never want to be, it's mediocre."

Silas let out a squeak. _"Then why must you do it by going after Harding? He's a tough nut to crack, and I'm sure that there are easier ways for you to do so."_

I sighed, and shifted him off my chest and onto my stomach – was easier to talk that way. "He's corrupt. Isn't that reason enough?"

"_And you're the paragon of moral virtue, and I'm one of Santa's little helper jynx. What's your real angle on this?"_

"Alright, I'll admit that I have no qualms about pushing others down to get what I want. And that I want to make something of myself in the military, as I've already said. I'm sure that you can do the maths."

"_I can't literally handle arithmetic, but I can add where it matters. Something is still missing from this whole situation,"_ Silas said softly.

"What now?" I squinted in the darkness to see him staring at me with wide eyes. "Just what more could you be curious about?"

"_Are you very sure that you want to get that high in the rankings?"_ he asked warily. _"You know what it's going to be like, right?"_

"Please. Just how bad can it get?"

He stuck his tongue out, and I felt it flopping against my chest. _"Look at Harding. He has no life, save for his continuous rule-breaking. Do you really want to be stuck in the military for good?"_

I shrugged at the ceiling. "I can't go home without getting high enough to be successful in my parents' eyes. Right now, I'm guessing that a general's rank would suffice for that."

"_Oh, I'm sure that they'll accept that. But do you have what it takes to take on Zachary Harding?"_ Silas asked. _"You've done well at evading this question for a while now, so it's time for us to hear an answer."_

"Why are you so curious, anyway?" I said before I could stop myself. "It's not like any of this will affect you, anyway!"

"_Yes it will!"_ he snapped. _"As much as I don't like you, I'll still be going along with you in the event that you get yourself boosted up there!"_

"Please," I snorted. "You seriously expect me to believe that you'd put all your hatred for me aside just like that? I might be a lot of things, Silas, but damned stupid hopefully isn't one of them."

He hesitated for a brief moment before replying, _"... I really don't know what to make of you, trainer."_

"Why?"

"_You want to achieve some obscenely high rank, and that's fine. Yet you turn down a promotion and take something that you could have gotten with a few years of experience instead,"_ Silas deadpanned. _"What gives? And don't tell me that it's all part of your grand scheme to oust Zachary Harding, since I wouldn't buy that for one second."_

"And why not, do tell?" I asked, wide awake once again. If Silas wanted an argument, he had one coming. "Since when do you even know what's going on in my head, anyways?"

"_Please, bitch, don't take me for a fool."_ he scoffed. _"You totally want his cock, that's why. And that's just for starters."_

I sat bolt upright, causing him to fly off my stomach with a startled squeak. "WHAT?"

"_You know what I mean,"_ he huffed, from where he had landed near the foot of my bed. _"Getting boned? Doing the horizontal tango? Rutting like a pair of-"_

"Alright, I get the point," I said angrily, as I grabbed Silas and hauled him over to look him in the eyes. "So what if I do find him attractive? That's not going to stop me from stepping over him if I need to."

"_The question is, could you live with yourself if you did that?"_ Silas asked. _"Especially since we now know that he in all likeliness didn't kill Tammy's tentacool?"_

I gaped at him for a moment, before dropping him on the mattress and shaking my head. "Well, then I'd nail him on the corruption charge. There's plenty of proof out there on that for me to get my hands on."

"_You have missed my point once again, like the dense wobbuffet that you are,"_ Silas sighed. _"Even to a simple shellder like me, it's clear that you don't want to do anything like that to him. So will you do it, when the time comes? Could you really bring him down even if you had the proof to do so? That's the real question I've been wondering about all this while, frankly."_

I looked at him for what felt like hours. The moonlight streaming in through the dorm room's tiny window lit the mattress up somewhat, allowing me to see his wide eyes clearly. In those large, wet pupils I saw twin reflections of my own face staring back at me. Diminished, yes, but the look of frustration on them was clearly visible.

"I don't know, Silas. I really don't."


	19. Usurped

**Chapter 18 – Usurped**

When the notice came for all port control personnel to be gathered at the auditorium in the morning, there were more than a few confused looks around the building. Most of us didn't even know that there was an auditorium at port control to begin with, since the spinarak we used to send memos around eliminated the need for such a gathering area.

"Auditorium, you say?" Mary asked, raising an eyebrow. "We haven't used that place since three years ago, or thereabouts."

General Harding pursed his lips. "As much as it annoys me to say so, I've forgotten where it is. And you've got to go there too, so I guess we'll just follow you there."

She snorted, "Eh, must be something big, then – the last time we used it was when Datamon came to town."

"Maybe he's here again?" I asked.

"Unlikely," General Harding shook his head. "If he really was coming over, we'd already be seeing him here – he likes to see how things work on the ground."

I shrugged. "Maybe he felt like doing things differently this time."

Mary glanced at her watch, and spoke up, "Well, it's already five minutes to the hour, so I guess we should get going."

Sure enough, the main doors to port control had already been shut and locked, guarded by a pair of machoke and a hovering mechanical creature I'd been told was a tinmon. Through the plate-glass windows of the building's front I could see that the roads leading to port control had also been barricaded. Several tangrowth and mushroomon were standing still as statues and manning the barricades, soaking up the morning sun eagerly.

Slightly unnerved by the beefed up security, I followed General Harding and Mary to the auditorium.

xxx

As it turned out, the auditorium was a large room on the fifth floor that was built to accommodate at least three hundred people. Its walls were painted with a shade of pale beige, and the seats were done theatre-style, with little desk-like attachments that could be folded away between them. All of the seats were built on terraces that sloped down towards the front of the chamber, where a stage was located.

On the stage were several technicians adjusting the sound system, and General Kylie Reardon. Her electivire was standing next to her, keeping an eye on the technicians as they prepped the stage for the people or persons that had called for the assembly, while she herself looked edgy for once. Somewhere in the front rows, I saw her other half, General Claire Williams. He was toying with an electronic device of some sort, and wasn't even looking up.

The three of us got ourselves seats near the back of the auditorium, since it offered us a view of the entire stage, minus the possible risk of being questioned by the speaker. Not a minute after we had taken our seats, the lights dimmed, and the stage lights were switched on.

General Reardon stepped up to the podium, and flicked an errant lock of hair behind her left ear. "Thank you for coming here, although I'm aware that none of you really had a choice in the matter. Today, we have all been gathered for a rather important announcement.

"As you all know, the terrorist threat is still very real. While the general public possibly believes that we have gotten everything under control, you all probably know better than that. Therefore, it has been decided by the... higher powers that additional military muscle will be stationed at all major cities."

She paused, and stood there looking fidgety for a bit. Loosening her collar slightly, she took a look behind her, into the shadowy doorway that led to the backstage room.

"Without further ado, let us welcome officers Arukenimon and Mummymon."

There was some sparse applause as a man in a blue trench coat and a red-dressed woman appeared through the stepped onto the stage. Then came the whispers and murmurs – hadn't General Reardon introduced them as _digimon?_

The woman – Arukenimon or Mummymon, I had no idea – sauntered up the microphone and leaned against the podium. "Well, good morning to you, personnel of Canalave port control. Allow me to introduce us – I'm Arukenimon, and he's Mummymon."

Mummymon stood silently next to her, a towering giant that swept the audience with his glowing yellow eye. Yes, you heard me right – 'eye', and not 'eyes', since only one was visible through the morass of bandages that was wrapped around his face.

Arukenimon continued with her speech, smirking as she did so. "Like our dear General Reardon has already mentioned, we seem to have a rather extensive terrorism problem over here on Earth. This really can't do, as I'm sure you'd agree.

"In view of the recent events involving some surprisingly coordinated acts of anarchy, we have already initiated the first phase of our anti-terrorism strategies. More digimon have been sent over here as a means of reinforcing the military presence, and also to keep an eye on everyone over here."

Her expression hardened, and she took her aviator sunglasses off, revealing a pair of yellowish eyes. When I really paid attention to them, though, I saw that each of her eye sockets had three eyeballs in them, much like the compound eyes of some bug pokemon.

Mummymon stepped up to the podium, and took the microphone from her. "As you have probably figured out by now, we suspect that there are leaks in our intelligence. Too much has transpired in too short a time for this to be mere coincidence. And if the terrorist attacks were all extensively planned even a long while ago... well, that just serves to prove our point now, doesn't it?

"Henceforth, all activities at port control will now be under our jurisdiction."

You could practically hear the collective inhalation from his audience upon hearing those words.

"Present rank-holders and officers at port control will be retained, but all reports will be submitted to us," Mummymon went on. "And you can trust me when I say that we have the means of processing every bit of data that comes our way."

Arukenimon leaned over and spoke into the microphone, "We'll be setting up our base of operations in the meeting room on the fourth floor. As such, I'd encourage anyone with any information about the terrorists to approach us there – anonymity is guaranteed."

She stopped to think for a moment. "Well, there's no need to remain anonymous, really. If you inform us about any terrorists in our midst, we'd have them apprehended and interrogated within five minutes, anyway.

"Thank you for your time, and I'd advise you to not disturb any digimon troops you see on the fourth floor – some of them are quite temperamental."

She and Mummymon left the stage after that, vanishing through the backstage entrance and leaving General Reardon alone up there with her electivire. General Harding nudged me, and when I turned to look at him, merely raised an eyebrow in response.

Only then did I recall his concerns about the digimon intervention in our government.

Somehow, that was enough to send a chill running down my spine.

xxx

It didn't take long for most of us to settle back into some semblance of routine. Most of the port control personnel ignored the digimon troops that patrolled the corridors, and for the most part, nothing particularly noteworthy occurred.

For my part, I didn't miss the resentful looks that a significant number of people cast towards the digimon. Also, it might have been my imagination playing tricks on me, but I sometimes thought that I might have seen some trainers in our midst – General Fen, for one – subtly doing things to make the digimons' collective lives miserable, such as discreetly switching the lids on the salt and pepper shakers down at the mess hall. And none of the digimon troops dared to mess with Babamon after one of them somehow turned out to be stupid enough to accuse her of being a human-sympathizer.

Presently, to the best of my knowledge, the digimon troop in concern was still on extended medical leave, after she literally cracked its skull with her walking stick and a decent bit of force.

Of all people, though, General Harding was the one who turned out surprisingly indifferent to the digimons' presence among us. Despite his clear distaste for the fact that he now had to submit reports on all his activities during office hours to Arukenimon and Mummymon, he was generally quite unfazed by their presence.

Once, I even walked into his office to see him whistling cheerfully while compiling his daily report before he clocked-out. Upon noticing my bemused facial expression, he merely raised an eyebrow and shrugged before signing the report with a flourish.

"You seem a little happy today, sir," I noted, as I approached his desk and dropped-off the armload of folders I had collected from the fourth floor.

"Kid, those fuckers have already made this place a miserable mess," he sighed. "You think I'm going to let them get me down? Fuck says no."

I could only shake my head in bewilderment over his last sentence. "If you say so, sir."

"We're done here, anyway – time to drop this shit at the assholes' office and head back," he said, standing up and stretching. "Oh, and one more thing?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Stop calling me sir," he yawned.

I smirked. "Yes, sir."

"God damn you."

xxx

Given how openly hostile a minority of the port control natives were towards the digimon, it probably was only a matter of time before an actual fight broke out somewhere at work. For the record, Babamon's bludgeoning of the hapless troop didn't count, since she was a digimon. When it finally happened, though, it didn't really surprise anyone that the actual fight took place down at the docks.

We had all been starting our morning normally, when a furious bellow was heard from the docks' general direction. The various bird pokemon that were perched on the cranes and ships took to the sky in a massive feathery cloud, even as we pressed up against the nearest available window to see just who had angered our dear friend Timothy Kirrin.

Really, the man's bellow was quite distinctive, once you got the hang of identifying his voice after your ears stopped ringing.

Sure enough, he was actually holding a frantic-looking divermon against the side of a shipping container by its neck. The merman digimon looked as if it were about to pass out – something that was to be expected, since Kirrin had its air hose in his free hand. A dazed-looking pelipper was lying on the dock, flapping one of its wings feebly. The pool of blood that it was lying in didn't escape my notice.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING TO THAT POKEMON?"

The divermon flailed in his grip, unable to retaliate against the chief mechanic since its harpoon was on the ground some five feet away from it.

"Kirrin!" General Harding snarled against the window pane. "You bloody fool!"

"Sir, why aren't the digimon-" I began, only to catch sight of Kirrin's mightyena and machamp holding back the digimon troops that had tried to come to the divermon's assistance. "Oh."

Down on the dock, two of Kirrin's fellow mechanics were already trying to pry the divermon out of his hands. Or, to be specific, they were trying to make him release its air hose – the fish-like digimon's face was already turning a shade a blue that matched its scales.

"Kirrin, let go!"

"It's not worth it!"

"The hell it isn't!" he snapped. "That pelipper may never fly again, just because this sick fuck here fancied some harpoon practice!

"Why don't you," BANG, "sick," BANG, "fucks," BANG, "just get the hell back to wherever you came from?"

Kirrin finally dropped the divermon and stalked off towards the wounded pelipper, leaving a massive dent on the side of the container. He gently picked up the grounded bird, and made his way out of our sight.

The two of us stood silently by the window for a while, watching as the near-unconscious divermon was picked up and carried away by its buddies after Kirrin's machamp and mightyena had backed off. Several of the dock workers lingered about the area for a bit, before returning to their respective tasks, and within a couple of minutes, the dock had more or less returned to its usual state of activity.

General Harding pursed his lips and let out a sound that seemed to be a mixture of distaste and frustration. "Well, this isn't going to end well for Kirrin, will it?"

I could only nod mutely, unable to take my gaze off the little puddle of pelipper blood that was slowly congealing on the dock's concrete surface.

One week later, Timothy Kirrin was fired as the chief mechanic at Canalave port control. We never did find out what happened to the pelipper that he had tried to save, or where he went after he left port control.

xxx

Kirrin's sacking seemed to worsen the already sour relationship between the digimon and everyone else at port control. After the incident, people and pokemon alike could be heard hurling insults at the digimon troops all over the place. Shows of contempt and aggression towards them were also not unheard of.

If any of the aforementioned scenarios bothered Arukenimon and Mummymon, they didn't show it. The two of them merely went on with their daily duties, and pretty much ignored everything else at port control.

Or at least, that's what most of us thought. I myself was of a similar opinion, until I chanced upon a rather interesting conversation in the corridors sometime after working hours.

I had been heading to the fourth floor to file away the day's paperwork, and had chanced upon Arukenimon heading towards the stairs at the back of the building. Considering that those stairs linked all the floors together – they were meant to be used in the event of a fire, really – this was indeed an unusual sight. After all, she and her bandage-clad colleague tended to take the elevator to go wherever it was they need or wanted to be.

And so, I quietly began tailing her. Fortunately for me, the hinges on the stairwell's doors were always kept well-oiled.

Slowly stepping up to the landing's edge, I peeked over the railing, and saw that Arukenimon had somehow... _morphed_ into a grotesque being of some sort. She now resembled a spider that had a woman's torso sticking out of its back, and it was only the creature's red coloration that made me realize just who it was – it was the same shade as the dress she always wore.

Arukenimon scuttled down the stairwell, sometimes walking on the walls instead of the stairs. I followed at a distance, being very careful to not make a sound as I descended the stairs, and keeping my eyes on her back.

Suddenly, she stopped at the ground-floor landing, and slowly began to turn her head around. I quickly flattened myself against the wall, holding my breath and praying to whatever deities there were out there that she wouldn't come back up to investigate. Had she heard me? Or was it those thrice-damned compound eyes of hers?

"Who's there?" she rasped, making several clicking sounds not unlike that of a ninjask's mandibles.

Obviously, I didn't bother answering her.

Time seemed to come to a standstill as the two of us stood silently in the stairwell, trying to listen for any signs of each other's presence. Well, I _hoped_ that she hadn't picked up on my presence yet.

After what felt like a brief spell of eternity, she continued heading downstairs. I slowly let out a relieved sigh, trying my level best to keep it from being too audible. A somewhat distant slamming sound told me that she'd most likely exited the stairwell at the basement level, and I stopped to consider my next move for a moment.

It was only then that I realized that I was still holding the stack of folders that I was supposed to deliver to the paperwork department.

With a relieved smile to myself, I headed down to the basement – at least, with those folders on me, I could cook up some excuse about having to check on something from the archives before submitting the documents.

xxx

The large metal door at the archives department was, for once, unlocked. Persiamon typically left it unlocked right before she finished her work for the day, and Castor the whimsicott usually hid the keys somewhere in its cottony fleece. Ford the ariados would stay in the musty old room at night, serving as the unofficial guardian of the archives.

However, I _had_ seen Persiamon leaving earlier, and so I was pretty sure that no one was inside the archives department save for Ford.

And as I mentioned earlier, the arachnid pokemon definitely didn't keep a copy of the department's keys on him.

Warily stepping into the hairspray-scented room, I looked around for any signs of Arukenimon's presence. Aside from some stray strands of webbing, though, there didn't seem to be any sign of her or Persiamon's ariados.

"What are you doing here?" came her raspy voice out of nowhere, causing me to jump.

"I uh," I stammered, trying to come up with a reasonable reply, "I was looking for Persiamon. Some of these documents seem a little ambiguous on the facts."

A shadow passed briefly over me, and Arukenimon jumped down in front of me. So she had been hiding on the ceiling, it seemed.

She tossed her webbing-like hair over her shoulder, before narrowing her eyes at me. "And why would there be any ambiguity in the facts, soldier?"

"Just to double check," I answered, a little more confidently. "Something about the last shipment of ores from Iron Island; you know how fiddly those can be."

"Hmm," she nodded. "Persiamon has left for the day, but I suppose those documents shouldn't be delayed. You have five minutes."

"Yes, ma'am," I offered her a brief bow, biting back the shudder than ran down my spine once I had noticed that there seemed to be some kind of unidentifiable stain around her fang-lined mouth – it looked quite similar to dried blood, and I really didn't want to know just what she had been eating.

While I may have hurried over to the appropriate shelf, I nonetheless kept my ears open. Within mere seconds of me disappearing behind the first row of shelves, she made a series of clicking sounds that rather surprisingly resembled Ford's usual vocalizations. A scuttling sound echoed throughout the archives room, and experience told me that it could only be one thing – Ford was making his way across the ceiling.

"Ford?" I called out softly, trying to determine if he was anywhere close to me. He didn't respond, though, and I begin to wonder if Arukenimon was somehow communicating with him.

Behind me, I could hear her making more of the clicking sounds, and as I had expected, Ford spoke up.

Luckily for me, it seemed that she had forgotten about the translating chips implanted within my inner ears.

"_What is it?_" he asked her, sounding bored. "_Nothing much happens down here._"

Several more clicks.

"_Hmm... nothing out of the ordinary, really. Just personnel referring to records where needed._"

I stood up a little straighter upon hearing that – so Ford was spying on visitors to the archives, it seemed. And he was reporting to Arukenimon, directly.

Realization hit me like a truck driven by a gang of hyperactive ambipoms. "They're both spiders!"

Unfortunately, I said that last bit a little too loudly – Arukenimon's voice cut through the hairspray-saturated silence like a knife. "Are you quite done yet?"

"Finished," I called back, even as Ford appeared over the top of the shelf on my right, and began eyeballing me. "And Ford, can't you ever leave me to browse for documents in peace?"

"_I'm watching you,_" he deadpanned. "_Especially if Tammy Silvas' records are involved, I'll have you know._"

Before I could give him a piece of my mind, Arukenimon stepped into the aisle we were in. She narrowed her eyes, and pointed a silk-wrapped hand at me.

"What is this about Tammy Silvas' records?" she asked brusquely. "And just who is she?"

I hesitated. Should I tell her that Tammy was a long dead person? What if she asked me about my curiosity on the matter? Would she go after General Harding if she knew what he did most nights?

"Answer the question, damn it!"

"Well," I paused for a moment, "I'm in the water pokemon department, you see... and she was... my predecessor! So I wanted to know more about her."

"Your predecessor, you say?" Arukenimon echoed. "What happened to her?"

"_Accident while training a tentacool,_" Ford offered. "_She got poisoned._"

For a few moments, Arukenimon remained silent, merely flicking her gaze between the two of us. The two of us remained silent, wondering just how the wheels were turning in her head. Or at least, that's what I was thinking about; I had no idea if Ford shared my concerns.

Finally, she shook her head and gestured for me to go away. "If she's dead, then the matter is closed. Get out of my sight."

I was only too glad to do so.

xxx

A few days later, Arukenimon dropped by General Harding's office. While that in itself wasn't something unusual, what she said caused the two of us to stare at her out of curiosity for a bit. Thankfully, she was in her humanoid form when she decided to come by for her visit.

"Persiamon's ariados has gone missing," she said plainly. "Do you have any idea where he might be?"

"And you are asking my assistant this question... why?" General Harding asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He does your archive work for you, and the ariados seems to know him quite well," she shrugged. "So, do you happen to know anything about his disappearance?"

I shook my head, trying to ignore the sense of dread that was building up in my gut. "No idea, ma'am. The last time I saw him was in the archives department."

With a harrumph, she left the room, not even shutting the door behind her. General Harding stared at her retreating back while it was in sight, before turning to face me.

"Just what did you do, kid?"

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant even though my stomach was tying itself into all manner of complicated knots. "I just went to the archives and referred to some documents, and she happened to see me talking to Ford. That's all."

He drummed his fingers on his desk. "I swear, this place is getting worse by the day."

"Maybe you'd manage to get out soon, sir?" I said, feeling a glimmer of hope emerging within myself.

"Eh?" he looked puzzled. "And why would I leave?"

"You had family problems, didn't you?" I reminded him. "Or have they been resolved?"

General Harding looked blank for a moment, before snapping his fingers and exclaiming, "Thanks for reminding me, kid – need to settle that, and fast!"

Without saying another word, he dashed out of the room, leaving me alone with a stack of requisition forms that he was supposed to sign.

"Sir, wait!" I called after him, but no avail. Sighing out of resignation, I scooped up the pile of forms, and headed to the door.

Just as I had reached the doorway, however, I was hit head-on by a pink and yellow blur. The requisition forms all flew up into the air, even as I fell over backwards and the blur revealed itself to be Persiamon. I fell onto my butt, and winced as I felt the sharp jolt upon impact.

"Persiamon!" I groaned. "Those forms took forever to organize!"

"Ford is-"

"Missing, I've heard," I cut her off. "And I haven't seen him in a few days already, so I'm afraid I can't help you there."

She looked almost on the verge of tears. "Oh! Alright then... But where could he possibly have gone? The archives room was locked when I arrived, and he sleeps in there."

"Wait, he disappeared from a locked room?" I asked her sceptically. "Are you sure he didn't get into the vents or something?"

Persiamon looked thoughtful for a moment. "We do have vents down there, but they're all locked with grilles... but one of them may have gotten loose! I'll get down and ask the maintenance crew about it!"

She whipped about and dashed down the corridor, leaving me shaking my head in bewilderment. First Arukenimon ran off, then General Harding, and now her? Everyone seemed to be a mighty big hurry.

Still... what Persiamon said made little sense. Ford was missing, and had effectively vanished despite being locked into the archives department at night. Arukenimon was looking for him also, and I had a nagging suspicion that she had her own reasons for wanting to find the feisty ariados.

I really hoped that he was lost somewhere in the ventilation pipes.


	20. Words

**Chapter 19 – Words**

If there was one thing that you could say about Canalave, it would definitely be that Canalave became too damned hot and stuffy somewhere about March. Most of the water pokemon at the docks looked plain miserable during that time of the year, and even the digimon seemed to shy away from the heat – street patrols were apparently restricted to areas with lots of trees and shady sidewalks during that period.

And the temperature wasn't the only thing that was hot – tempers were also running at an all-time high, thanks to the compromise of sorts that existed between the humans, pokemon, and digimon. More and more pranks were being pulled on the hapless digimon, and even Mummymon had somehow been hit once on the back of his head with a soiled baby's diaper (no one knew who did it, and no one wanted to know).

Even some of the friendlier digimon were getting a tad antsy due to the weather. Mainly, this meant Babamon getting a lot more expressive using her walking stick, whereas some of the demidevimon we kept around to relay memos had taken to ganging up on and dive-bombing people who annoyed them. The worst incident involving digimon losing their tempers, though, probably was that of a tinmon nearly electrocuting a mechanic when he picked a fight with it – probably also one of the few incidents where the human was the first to start the fight.

As for Persiamon... the heat wave saw her becoming a little more withdrawn. Ford the ariados was still missing, and she seemed to be missing him terribly. Every notice board at port control had a small poster with his picture and name on it, with a plea for anyone who found him to contact her. Alas, he remained missing in action, and March marked the second month of his absence.

Even Castor the whimsicott seemed unusually down thanks to his friend's disappearance – he didn't even try to zap me with his trick ballpoint pen anymore whenever I happened to drop by the archives department.

And so, we all eventually settled down and tried to bear with the heat, at least until the hot spell ended.

xxx

I unlocked the door to my dorm room, and stepped in with a weary sigh. Even at night and without a shirt, it remained stifling – most of the military hostel's male population had opted to shuck their shirts once they were within the hostel compound, and no one was complaining. Well, some of us initially drew some stares from the female military personnel that lived there with us, but when some of them began answering their dorm room doors in bikinis, things more or less equalized.

Silas chirped a greeting at me as I stepped into the room, with a small tub in my arms. "_Is that it, trainer?_"

"Yes, Silas – I managed to get the last tub out of the grocery store," I offered him a small smirk. "So, remember the terms of our agreement?"

"_No tongue._"

"Damn straight. Now, let's get down to it, shall we?"

It didn't even take half a minute for the two of us to get the tub of cookies and cream ice cream open.

xxx

"_That hits the spot,_" Silas sighed dreamily. "_Although I still think you should have gotten chocolate._"

"Nah," I shook my head, as I licked some of the ice cream off my spoon. "Chocolate's not good for pokemon, is it? They had that campaign some time back..."

"_Fuck that,_" he whistled. "_In small doses, it's fine with us. Only hyperactive bastards like whimsicott and sableye should avoid chocolate, really._"

I grimaced at the thought of Castor the whimsicott on a sugar rush. "Point taken. Now- Oi!"

Silas had tried to sneak his tongue into the tub of ice cream, which of course meant that I had to take countermeasures to prevent him from hogging it. That simply involved me swatting his tongue with my spoon, though.

"_Hey, anus -_ y_ou didn't have to do that!_"

"The agreement was no tongue, Silas!"

"_Aww, come on – it's not like we haven't shared any meals before!_" he huffed.

"... I would rather not think where your tongue has been, thank you very much," I retorted.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "_As if _your_ mouth is that clean – don't think I don't know what you did at Coronet. Or to be more specific, I know _who_ you did at Coronet._"

I raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh?"

"_General Harding's slowbro – Adrienne's such a sweetheart, really - told me that it's in your file; something involving a friend from your barracks and some clandestine activities in the showers?_"

"You have got to be kidding me," I gaped at him. "You _are_ fucking with me, aren't you?"

Silas had the gall to look smug as he replied to my question. "_I am not fucking with you, and I don't have any desire to do so, my dear trainer. It sounded more like that friend of yours was, though._"

Glaring daggers at him, I pointed my spoon at him like a pistol – quite a pathetic gesture, really, when you considered that he was sitting next to me on my bed, with a small plate of melting ice cream in front of him. "Why, you... You sneaky little bastard! It's none of your business who I decide to screw!"

"_Excuse me, 'bastard'?_"

"As revenge for that, I'm going to finish the last scoop of ice cream!" I declared, only to have him plunge his tongue into the tub like a hose. "Hey!"

He let out a squeak as I grabbed his tongue and yanked it out of the tub, and shot a small stream of cold water at my face. That caught me off-guard, and I reeled back, causing the ice cream tub to tip over on my lap, spilling whatever half-melted ice cream it still contained onto the front of my shorts.

"You _motherfucker,_ that was the last of the ice cream!"

"_Watch your mouth, you cock-sucking faggot! Use more of that kind of language and I'm going to punish you!_"

I smacked him upside the shell, and bent down to grab my T-shirt off the floor, to try and mop up the spilled ice cream off my shorts. "Shut up, you vulgar little twat."

And that was when my room door was somehow unlocked from the outside, and General Harding walked in as if he owned the place. I froze and stared at him, as did Silas, and he likewise took in the sight of me sitting there, topless, with my shellder's tongue draped across my lap, while my shorts had a rather suspicious white stain on them.

"Okay," he said hesitantly, as he pocketed a rather large bunch of keys, "is there anything you want to tell me about what you've been doing with Silas during your spare time?"

It took almost all of my willpower to not throw Silas at him. "It's ice cream. That Silas spilled on me. And it was the last tub the store had."

General Harding at least had the decency to look sympathetic. "Vanilla?"

"Cookies and cream," I replied moodily, as I used my T-shirt to clean up my shorts as best I could – it looked like I'd be busy down at the laundry room, later.

"Pity about that - anyway!" he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Pack your things, kid. We've got a trip to make. You might also want to get into some proper clothes."

I stared at him. "Could you repeat that, please, sir?"

"What, the clothes bit? I've seen you naked in the locker room, kid," he rolled his eyes. "And if it makes you feel better, you definitely have flaunt-worthy material."

"_Flaunt-worthy material, you say? I've seen better sausages at the grocery store._"

"Not that – and shut up, Silas!" I threw my hands up in the air exasperatedly. "Something about a trip that we're going on?"

"Oh, that. We," he said, jabbing a finger in my direction, "are going on a little trip. And since Mummymon has actually gotten someone to jam all non-official teleportation pathways, we'll be making this one by chopper."

"But where could we possibly go at ten p.m.?" I asked him, as Silas stared at him as though he had grown a second head. "Tomorrow's Sunday, granted, but where is it you need to go that we can't walk to?"

He merely waved at me, and cocked his head to one side. It took me all of a second to recall the gesture's meaning, and so I promptly recalled Silas, before hopping off the bed and getting some clothes on (the shorts with the ice cream stain ended up being folded and placed on the chair in the corner of the room). Three minutes later saw us leaving the dorm room, and heading for the stairs leading back down to the hostel's compound.

Simply put, the gesture General Harding had used indicated that someone's ears had been listening in on our conversation. And to make things even more interesting, the ears were on someone who was tailing him.

xxx

The helicopter was waiting at the eerily deserted docks – apparently, Mummymon and Arukenimon, along with all their goons, were already at one of the specialized sleeping facilities that the digimon needed to survive on Earth. When I asked General Harding why the trip was being made by helicopter if the digimon were in charge, all he'd had to say was that the generals still had more pull at port control than those two 'incorrigibly pompous assholes'.

Generals Fen, Maine, Claire, and Reardon were all also there. Clearly, the dissatisfaction with the digimon's interference at port control was more prolific than I'd have thought.

Take-off was uneventful, and it wasn't long before Canalave was visible as little more than a cluster of lights shining in the distance behind us. Nothing seemed to be ahead of us save for an endless expanse of black water, along with several uninhabited rocky islands. For some reason, the pilot slowed the chopper down as we approached the airspace around the islands – it was almost as if he was afraid of flying over them, or something.

As we came even closer to the islands, though, the air seemed to shimmer around the chopper, and the empty airspace around us suddenly changed. Where seconds before there had been sheer emptiness, what appeared to be an oil rig now occupied the view through the helicopter's front after we had crossed the invisible boundary over the islands. When I looked down at the churning surface of the ocean, I saw that the islands themselves had vanished.

"Interesting trick, eh?" General Harding's voice crackled through my headphones. "Took us a while to figure it out, but we managed to hide this old rig in the end."

"Why hide it, though?" I asked him, hearing my own voice echoing through the headset. "Isn't it abandoned?"

"Hardly," was General Reardon's dry reply. "And we hid it because... well, let's just say that we weren't entirely trusting towards our digimon superiors, even at the beginning of the revolution."

The helicopter's pilot slowly manoeuvred it down onto the rig's helipad, where a deck officer and a luxray were already waiting for us. Bright floodlights illuminated the age-worn landing area, and the red 'H' that had been painted at its centre was barely visible. From what I could see, the rest of the oil rig seemed to be quite deserted – most of the machinery and buildings on it appeared to be dark, and there were so signs of movement.

With a slight shudder, the helicopter touched down on the helipad, and General Clair opened the side hatch. We quickly disembarked, and headed straight for the deck officer and his luxray. The floodlights' stark beams were reflected off his aviators, and on closer inspection, it was clear that the luxray was also wearing some dark goggles.

"Good evening, gentles," the officer said, saluting us. "Everything's already prepared below decks, so if you'll just head down you'd find that all's in order."

"Glad to hear it," General Fen responded politely. "Lax personnel make me crabby."

Even as we headed for a narrow set of stairs at the side of the helipad that led down to the rig's lower decks, the floodlights all went out. Several smaller lights came on near the stairs, leaving us with only a small trail of brightness to walk along. As we descended the stairs, I saw that it had been built almost direct over the edge of the platform – the ocean was practically underneath it, and several red dots could be seen glowing in the dark water.

I couldn't help but be fascinated by the luminescent red dots – there was something oddly compelling about them. It wasn't until General Harding clapped me on the shoulder – startling me half to death – that I realized that I had almost gone over the staircase's railing by leaning out to catch a glimpse of the lights.

"Careful, kiddo," he smirked. "Some of them may be mine, but jellicent remain ghosts at heart, you hear? Give them a chance, and they'd lure you to a watery grave."

"Understood, sir," I shuddered as I recalled the descriptions I'd been given of jellicent and their basic forms, frillish. Supposedly, they were the only water/ghost pokemon to have ever been discovered, and preferred to stay out on the open ocean, near deep underwater trenches. I had forgotten about their infamous ability to mesmerize potential prey with their glowing red eyes, though – jellicent were better at it than frillish, and were rumoured to drain their prey's life force out once said victim came close enough to them.

No one could ever verify the accuracy of that claim, though, since most jellicent victims were found brain dead. It was only the distinctive sucker marks along the sides of their heads that provided for any proof of said aquatic ghosts being involved.

And of course, that was only in the case of bodies that had been washed up on shore and examined in the presence of a trained psychic – most missing ships were presumed to have paid the price for trespassing within jellicent territory.

"Why'd you use jellicent to guard this place, though?" I asked General Harding as we finally stepped past a bulkhead and entered a dimly-lit corridor within the rig's bowels. "And how on earth do you keep them under control out there?"

He shrugged. "Well, they're the hardest to harm of all the water types, really – you could even fire a Thunder attack down on them, and do little more than aggravate them. Control's not an issue since they don't really mind being trained, anyway."

As we passed through an intersection of several corridors, I heard some strange noises coming from one of the darkened pathways perpendicular to the one that we were walking along. "Did you hear that, sir?"

"Probably one of the other pokemon we keep around her to patrol the corridors," he said dismissively. "Fen's got several magnemite lurking around, and Kylie has a swarm of rotom possessing almost all the machinery here – it's how all the stuff here is powered."

After what felt like an hour of walking through the shadowy corridors (with an increasing amount of strange sounds and noises in the background as we moved further along), we finally came to a corridor that ended at a formidable-looking metal door.

"All present and accounted for?" General Claire asked, before releasing a claydol. "Alright, then – open it up."

The psychic's eyes glowed briefly, and the massive door slid open of its own accord. What it revealed was nothing short of shocking – in fact, the very thought of it had crossed my mind before, but had been dismissed on the grounds of it being utterly ludicrous.

Just what thoughts were these, you might ask? Well, they involved a conspiracy theory, and one about all the military bigwigs being secretly against the digimon government.

We entered the rather large conference room, and I mentally matched faces to names as I followed General Harding to a seat near the far end of the long table which dominated the floor. From what I could tell, more than half of Sinnoh's military administration was present in that room, along with several assistants and pokemon.

I also saw some people that I had never heard of before, such as the woman dressed entirely in black, who had a mandibuzz perched on the back of her chair and a sableye drinking out of her mug. Then there was the woman who had a weavile by her side and a rather startling resemblance to the late Candice Shackleton, who had led Snowpoint's gym during the pre-revolution days – General Harding later told me that she was Candice's twin sister, and that her affinity was also for the ice type.

Only one thing seemed to connect them all – to the best of my knowledge, all of the gathered people were generals. None of them wore the grey uniforms that marked one as an admiral, nor the white of a grand admiral.

"The meeting will now come to order," declared a man whose hair had been dyed with streaks of purple, and who was standing at the head of the table. "Are there any objections to this?"

Silence was the only answer to his question, and the venomoth flitting about next to his head let out a shrill whistle as it settled down on the table's edge.

"Very well then, we shall begin. Commence with the reports."

One by one, the assembled generals began speaking. Hearing them speak was almost like a waking dream – or rather, a nightmare.

"So far, I've managed to control the dissent in the city... No idea how long more I can keep it up if things don't improve."

"The digimon don't know what they're doing! Most of the former trainers aren't happy with the tightened security – they say it's an attempt at subjugation."

The general with the purple-streaked hair took in all the reports with a straight face, and merely nodded occasionally to show that he was paying attention. After a while, he held up a hand, stopping a general with electric pink hair from finishing his report.

"As much as your reports are important, I think we all can agree that they are all quite similar, no?" there were several snorts and nods of assent at that. "But this news I have is... very interesting.

"The digimon are planning to reintroduce pokemon training for the masses."

There was a moment of tense silence as the meaning of his words sank in. Finally, an elderly general with bloodshot eyes and a froslass hovering behind him – I think he might have been a ghost specialist - spoke up.

"Are you very sure about this?" the old man asked slowly. "This is no trivial matter, as I'm sure you're aware."

"Datamon approached me the other day," replied the general with the venomoth, "and he was very interested in how we used to run the gym circuit back in the old days. When I asked him why, he said that the digimon were considering arming the population at large against the terrorist threat."

"And so you extrapolated based on the facts you were given," said a woman with salt-and-pepper hair. "Logically, but it remains extrapolation nonetheless."

"Datamon was asking some very detailed questions," he said, raising an eyebrow. "He even mentioned that Aaron and Shauntal would be working with him to hold a tournament of sorts for any generals or admirals that were interested in pokemon battling."

"Still, there remains a big difference between recreational battling and the reinstation of the Pokemon League," she said, not backing down. "Do you have any other proof of his intentions?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he replied with a thin smile. "I went digging, and found this video."

His venomoth's eyes glowed, and a flat-screen television slid out of a gap between the ceiling and the wall behind him. He stepped aside, and the television came to life, showing a dark-haired woman with large-framed spectacles. Dressed in a black outfit and looking too pale to be considered as healthy, she spoke to the camera with a frail, quavering voice.

If you had been there, you probably would have heard the collective inhalations within the room as Shauntal, former member of the Unova Pokemon League, got her point across.

"... I see the validity of your argument, Datamon. But given the present... climate here... I do not think it is advisable to take this course of action. Pokemon training is not for the masses, as I'm sure you'd agree... All you need to do is take a look at how the revolution came to be..."

The video ended there, and the general with the venomoth stepped back to the head of the table.

"So... I am curious as to what you think of this recent development."

xxx

That night itself, the meeting ended. So we began heading back somewhere around three in the morning.

I couldn't really say much to General Harding, since he was quite busy exchanging information with some of his peers that weren't from Canalave. However, once some of them had left – goodness knows how they had managed to keep so many helicopters stashed away on various parts of the oil rig – I had my chance.

"General Harding, we need to talk," I said softly, approaching him from behind.

"My holy!" he cursed, whipping about and nearly decking me across the face. "Don't do that, kid! You nearly gave me a heart attack..."

I didn't back down. "We need to talk. Alone."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do we, now?"

"Yes," I said, perhaps a tad more forcefully than I'd have liked.

"Alright, then," he nodded, heading off towards the edge of the helipad. I could see the jellicents' eyes glowing in the depths below us, and barely managed to suppress the shiver that threatened to run along my spine. "So, what's up?"

"This is treason!" I hissed at him. "If the digimon found out-"

"We are trying to nip an evil in the bud, kid," he cut me off, looking weary. For the first time in a while, I realized how _tired_ he looked. "Shauntal was right in saying that training isn't exactly cut out for the masses, you know? Just take a look at how Earth got here to begin with, and you'd understand why."

"But sir," I persisted, "tell me this; why the secrecy? I'm sure the digimon would share your concerns!"

"It's... They..." he shook his head. "Ever heard the saying, 'a man's got to do what a man's go to do'?"

"What does that have to do with this?" I asked him testily.

He looked me in the eye, and for those few seconds, I felt as if I was looking into two pieces of plastic. They might have been full of life on a daily basis, but during those few moments... they seemed to be devoid of emotion.

"Maybe someday you'll understand, kid," he finally said, his words slow and cautious. "Until then, it's best for everyone if you kept this whole affair quiet, understood?"

I looked at him, not really knowing what to make of the whole situation. When he saw that I didn't look quite sure enough of my ability to keep the whole deal under wraps, he sighed and pushed me back towards the centre of the helipad.

"You asked for it, kid."

Before I knew it, he had released Adrienne. She took a look at her surroundings and her trainer before letting her gaze settle on me.

"_Are you sure, Zachary?_" she asked, giving me the impression that she was somewhat upset – no mean feat, considering that she was a slowbro.

"Do it," General Harding said, his voice sounding a little... regretful? I couldn't tell.

"Sir?" I asked, even as I backed up nervously. Some of the other generals that were there spared me a glance, but didn't seem bothered by the scene they had just witnessed. "General Harding?"

Adrienne's eyes began to glow, and pain blossomed like an inferno in my head. Bits of memory flashed before my mind's eye, all of them to do with the night's secret mission. For a single, horrifyingly clear moment, the memory of the jellicents' glowing red eyes lingered in my head.

After that, everything abruptly slipped into darkness for me.

xxx

I woke up with a start, with a mouth that felt as dry as the proverbial toxicroak's ass. A quick glance down south revealed that I wasn't having another hangover, since I hadn't collapsed on the floor and slept in the nude, so I began to wonder just what I had been doing the night before. Silas was also sleeping on the bed, which further reinforced my belief that I wasn't hung over – I tended to leave him in his pokeball when I was drunk.

It was then that I realized the previous night was a blur to me.

With a frown, I got up, and checked my alarm clock – it was Sunday, and so at least I had managed to get the date right. The time was about eleven in the morning, though, and that was sufficient to send my mind into a suspicious, squinty-eyed state. I _never_ slept past nine in the morning on Sundays, since the mess hall downstairs tended to have unusually good coffee during the weekends, so unless someone had tampered with my clock, something fishy was definitely going on.

If only I knew just _what_ I had been up to last night.

"Well, this is a new one," I muttered to myself, reaching for Silas and tapping his shell. With a few murmured curses, he woke up and gave me a sleepy glare.

"_What's going on, trainer?_" he asked, sticking his tongue out. "_Overslept?_"

I frowned at him. "What was I doing last night, again?"

"_Oh, joy,_" Silas grumbled. "_Now he's an amnesiac._"

"I seriously don't know even if I got drugged and date raped last night, so your cooperation would be appreciated," I deadpanned.

Silas tried to say something, but ended up letting out a little squeak instead. Looking unnerved, he said, "_I can't remember, either!_"

"What?" I asked him, hardly believing what I had just heard. "What do you mean you don't remember?"

"_Something isn't right,_" he hissed, narrowing his eyes at me. "_All I'm getting is a blur when I think of last night. Mighty suspicious, if you ask me..._"

"What, the Darkrai came and stole our memories?" I asked him sarcastically. "Unlikely, much?"

"_Or a psychic could've stolen them,_" he retorted. "_Any number of pokemon could have done this, really. Maybe your boyfriend could help us out on this._"

"Excuse me – my _boyfriend?_" I asked, having rough idea of who he was referring to.

"_Tall, black hair? Has a sexy body, if your ramblings are anything to go by? Answers to Zachary Harding?_"

"You're smart, Silas, but fuck no!"

"_So are we going to him for help or not?_" Silas asked, ignoring the glare I sent his way. "_You might even get a chance at him if you went to him now, since only the gods know what he might've been up to last night._"

"... shut up."


	21. Prophecy

**Chapter 20 – Prophecy**

Just as Silas and I were about to clear up the mess that seemed to have materialized overnight in my room, the door to my dorm room flew open, and General Harding stepped into the room, twirling a huge bunch of keys with the index finger of his left hand.

"Morning, sunshine," he smiled brightly. "Having a lovely Sunday morning?"

"Say, sir-"

"_You-"_

He held up a hand, cutting us off. "Oh, I know what you two are about to say."

I frowned at him, whereas Silas settled for glaring at him – probably since he lacked the lips to frown with. "And you know that... how?"

"It's all very simple, really," he shrugged. "Adrienne?"

With a soft popping sound, Adrienne the slowbro appeared on my bed, slipping on the messed-up blanket. She let out a soft cry of surprise as she tumbled to the floor, but vanished and reappeared on her feet in the doorway, looking a little more dignified. Stepping into my dorm room, she dusted herself off, and shook her head as if to regain her bearings.

"_Standard check, Zachary?"_ she asked him, as she looked me in the eye.

"Double check the seals, dear," he nodded. "This is one job we can't screw up."

He then cast a wistful glance at Silas and I. "We can't let them remember what happened last night now, can we?"

My eyes widened in shock, as did Silas', as Adrienne sighed, and a sudden, swirling sensation engulfed my senses.

xxx

When we finally woke up horribly, terribly, and unforgivably late – somewhere past three in the afternoon - it was unanimously decided by Silas and I that our first order of business was to clear up the spilt ice cream and dispose of its tub. Then, I would hunt down some decent office clothes and head to the office, since I most likely had overslept that day.

Or to put it more accurately, I most definitely had overslept.

Not that General Harding would've minded, but the fact that I might have overslept was enough to set me off on a bout of twitching-eye agitation.

"_Wait, Trainer!"_ Silas cried, as I pulled on my uniform shirt and tucked it in. _"I just realized something!"_

"Silas, you know I do like you and all that, but this isn't the time," I shook my head. "Save it for the office!"

"_But-"_

"No buts!" I grabbed my backpack and dashed out the door, Silas held firmly in my arms.

"_BUT-"_

"SHUT IT!" I practically shouted, as I barrelled down the corridor of the dormitory, and sped down the stairs.

"_It's Sunday,"_ Silas said meekly.

I came to a dead stop and stared at him incredulously. "You've got to be fucking with me. I've already overslept, and now you're telling me that it's Sunday?"

"_Better check your calendar,"_ he grumbled. _"I see that bitch in that itsy-bitsy teeny-weenie yellow polka dot bikini, so it's definitely Sunday."_

I looked around, and sure enough, that horrible crone was parading herself in that flimsy excuse for a swimsuit. "Fuck, that's her alright... bummer."

"_I told you so, much?"_

"... I hate you."

When we got back to my dorm, I realized something was wrong. A quick swipe at my left trouser pocket revealed that yes, something indeed very wrong. With a groan, I slammed my head into my door, causing Silas to let out a startled squeak.

"_What's your major malfunction, numb nuts?"_ he asked with wide eyes. _"Trying to evolve into a rampardos or something?"_

"I locked the key inside," I told him, unsure of whether I was going to laugh or cry over the whole deal. "And the dorm warden's not around on Sundays."

"_Tough luck for you. Could you at least return me, then? At least I'd be out of the heat."_

"... your pokeball's also inside the room, genius."

"_What?"_ He glared at me. _"Well, congratulations, dickhead! Now we're locked out of our own room!"_

"Shut your fucking pie-hole-"

My neighbor's door slammed open, and he groggily stepped out into the corridor, garbed only in a pair of leaopard-print briefs. "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?"

"_Can it, Captain Speedo!"_ Silas snapped at him. _"Go fuck yourself with a dugtrio!"_

"What-"

"SHUT YOUR PIE-HOLE, WE'RE WORKING HERE!" I bellowed in his face, causing him to flinch. No mean feat, considering that he was a giant of a man who worked as an artillerist, and who could easily have snapped me like a toothpick if he'd been angry enough. "GET THE FUCK BACK IN YOUR ROOM, AND I DON'T WANT TO HEAR A SOUND FROM YOU, GOT IT?"

"Oh, umm... okay," he mumbled, blinking like a noctowl before stepping back into his own room and closing the door... softly.

I drew in a deep breath and leaned back against the – locked – door to my own dorm room. Silas squirmed a little in my arms, even as I began slowly banging my head against my door.

"_That's not going to help, you know."_

"I. Don't. Care."

"_Climbing the drainpipe would be more productive,"_ he huffed, before casting a fearful glance at me. _"Tell me I didn't just say that."_

I smiled sweetly at him, feeling my forehead throb slightly thanks to my short bout of head-banging. "Why of course you did, darling."

Silas actually looked genuinely terrified upon hearing me say those words. _"Oh, sweet Arceus... have mercy on my soul."_

xxx

As it turned out, the supplies room downstairs did have a coil of hemp rope that they were willing to loan to me for the day, provided I returned it in pristine condition. Thankfully, while the dorm warden himself was never in on Sundays, the obsessive-compulsive bastard we knew and loved as our quartermaster was always on the job.

"_So, you'll be climbing up the drainpipe, and onto that ledge?"_ my dear shellder asked, squinting up at the window to our dorm room – it was open, thanks to the obscenely hot weather. _"I do hope you're up to the task, my dear Trainer."_

"Yes, we'll be getting up there soon," I nodded, as I took my shirt off and folded it into my backpack. "And you'd best hope that my arms don't cramp up when I'm climbing, because you're coming along."

Too late, he tried to clamp down on my fingers. All it took was a few loops and a couple of hitches, and he was trussed-up like a Christmas turkey. Two more loops and knots secured him to my backpack, and I nonchalantly headed for the drainpipe, ignoring several curious stares from the people who had been playing a basketball game in the hostel compound.

"_You crazy bastard!"_ Silas shrieked, from where he was strapped to my backpack. _"You could've left me somewhere else to be picked up later!"_

"Shut up, bitch," I grunted, as I shimmied up the drainpipe that led to the end of the dormitory building block. "Wouldn't want me to fall now, would you?"

"_I wouldn't really mind that, but only if I wasn't tied to you!"_

Of course, a small crowd had gathered to see the two of us making our ascent of the drainpipe. Most of them were fellow military personnel in their Canalave summer wear – undergarments, really – but there were also a couple of people casting us curious looks from beyond the hostel's perimeter fence.

"Fifty bucks on the kid!"

"Holy-"

"... Is that a shellder strapped to his back?"

"What the fuck are you doing, you weirdo?"

I looked up – only five more feet to go. With a smirk of self-satisfaction, I continued climbing up the pipe, and finally made it onto the ledge that it ended at. All it took was an awkwardly-angled grab at the ledge to secure my grip on it, and I was set. Silas let out an audible sigh of relief once we were up on the ledge, only to squeal in fear once he got a look straight off it.

Now, the ledge itself was going to be quite an obstacle to navigate. Patches of moss grew all over it, making it slippery in places, and it was already no more than two feet wide. Then, the windows to all the dorms were about five feet apart, so that meant that every five feet or so, I'd be moving along the ledge without anything for my hands to grip.

Lastly, there was my own dorm window to consider. Being the paranoid bastard that I was, I had locked the lower half of the window, and only opened the upper half. So that basically would force me to squeeze through half of my window once I got there.

"Almost there, Silas," I said cheerfully, despite the fact that I was hugging the wall and stepping forward slowly to ensure that I didn't end up becoming a pancake on the tarmac below. "Umm, thirty more feet or thereabouts, I guess."

"_You're a fucking sadist. And a complete maniac! You need psychotherapy!"_

"Only for you, sweetie - twenty more feet!"

And that was when I slipped on some rather conveniently-located moss – right between windows, so there were no handholds - and fell, screaming like a schoolgirl, off the ledge.

xxx

Ironically, for all the craziness with apparently oversleeping on Sunday, I ended up oversleeping on the Monday right after that. The good part of the whole deal was that I only overslept by five minutes. However, the bad part involved Silas telling me that he'd awoken to me hugging him like a pillow and curling up such that his mouth was aimed at my crotch.

Seriously, the universe probably hated me or something.

If you've ever felt like the karmic gods or legendaries were out to get you, trust me on this – having zero recall of your Saturday night and oversleeping for two consecutive days probably comes close to it. And of course, nearly falling to my death didn't help the matter any.

Seriously, if not for that military trainer who somehow had his jynx with him – also watching my perilous climbing endeavour - I would've been killed most unglamorously by means of gravity. Being mauled by a wild garchomp or getting mutated by the injection some liquid Water Stone or something, I could live with, but falling from a ledge? Falling was hardly my idea of going out with a bang, really.

And of course, Silas would've most likely survived the fall. The natural armour of a shellder was comparable to blast-shielded titanium at its best, and some said solid granite even at its very worst. So he would've probably gotten soaked in my innards as they burst out all over the ground, soaking the bystanders. Probably could've died laughing, though, so that might have evened the score for us.

"Holy shit, I'm late!"

"_No shit, Einstein. Now shut up and let me sleep."_

"I need you awake for this!"

"_At least grab my pokeball!"_

Back on the topic of me oversleeping on Monday, I probably looked like something out of a Saturday morning cartoon as I stalked through the corridors of port control with Silas tucked under my arm like a bizarre folder of some sort, but I wasn't bothered. Sure, I got more than a few stares along the way, but several choice curses – and several Ice Shards from Silas – ensured that we made it to General Harding's office without much harassment.

I really hoped that those machop Silas froze to the wall wouldn't recognize us once they had thawed out.

For once, I didn't bother knocking when I arrived at his office; I didn't even think about what I'd do if I ended up walking in on him having a round of early morning sex with General Fen again. When I opened the door to his office, however, what I saw was something completely unexpected.

General Harding was having a cup of coffee in Linda the deckchair, but his morning coffee companion certainly wasn't Adrienne as it usually was. While the creature having a cup of coffee next to him was just as pink as she was, with an equally vacant stare, it definitely wasn't a slowbro. Instead of the slowbro's iconic shellder on its tail, it had the shellder clamped onto its head instead, and its neck was adorned with a red-striped frill.

I froze in the doorway, as did Silas, as the slowking gently levitated its cup of coffee onto General Harding's desk and fixated its blank gaze on us. Both of its hands were tucked behind its back, and only its eyes were moving. Upon closer observation, I noticed that the slowking itself was hovering several inches off the floor.

"Adrienne's not in this morning," he said, answering my unspoken question. "Instead, meet her twin – I do believe I've mentioned his name before."

"_So, he is the one I've been waiting for, I take it?"_ the slowking said, sounding mildly curious.

"You tell me," General Harding shrugged. "You're supposed to be the psychic, Adrian."

Only then did my addled, sleep-abused brain make sense of General Harding's words – he'd mentioned having a slowking, and that he was Adrienne's twin. At least that explained the matching names...

I cleared my throat, "Excuse me, who were you were waiting for, again?"

Adrian hummed absently as he moved towards me – no, _glided_ would have been a more accurate word – with his shellder's eyes glowing. _"Prophecies never move in straight lines, my dear. Neither do they move in curves, despite the non-linear nature of time itself. But to see into the future, one must disregard the curvature of time, and look through what lies straight ahead."_

"... and what is that supposed to mean?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow. Silas, in the meantime, had squirmed about and reoriented himself to direct his eyes at Adrian.

"_Space and time,"_ the slowking continued humming, as he floated about in a circle, _"are two related yet dissociated entities. Note that I said 'entities' and not 'quantities' – you could quantify them, but ultimately they remain as forces closer to any living being than those which are merely bound by the laws of physics. Similarly, prophecies are both specific and vague at the same time, but yet the element of time itself remains constantly in motion."_

General Harding sighed, "Adrian, have pity on the kid, would you? Just tell him what he needs to know, if he's the one you're looking for."

"_Prophecies are not that detailed, Zachary,"_ Adrian snapped. _"And neither are they that generalized. He may be the one I'm looking for, yet he might also be someone completely unrelated."_

"Recite the prophecy, then," General Harding snorted. "If he hears the whole thing, then you'll know he's the one."

"_But we won't know just what the whole thing is, will we?"_ Silas pointed out. _"We could all be hearing parts of it, for all you know."_

"_Oh, he's a smart one,"_ Adrian glared at him for a while, his neck-frill ruffling in a nonexistent breeze, before turning back to face me. _"So be it, then._

"_Time, always in motion, branched like a tree and knotted like entrails. On the odd occasion, branches may bend and return to the earth from whence they came, but yet remain living and elevated at their origin. As much as the tree may desire to hold on to its fruits, it ultimately has to release its hold on them for the propagation of its seeds."_

The slowking gradually began rocking back and forth, his telepathic voice reduced to a near-whisper. _"There will come a time when souls will be among the currencies available for trade, child. You must then choose the price to be paid, and the means by which you shall pay for the chance to redeem more than you could comprehend beyond a lifetime. And ultimately, your lifetime shall never see any greater and fulfilling achievement than that which you shall devote your life to. It shall have purpose beyond comprehension, and impact beyond lifetimes."_

I stood there, dumbfounded. General Harding looked bored, whereas Silas was glaring at the slowbro with narrowed eyes. "Is that it?"

"_You tell me,"_ was Adrian's curt answer, before he vanished with a soft popping sound. His trainer merely sighed, and shook his head.

"Learn a lesson from him, kiddo – never try to mess with things that lie beyond your understanding and ability to control."

"I don't understand, sir," I shook my head. "I heard something, but I don't know if it's the whole prophecy. And just what did you mean by that?"

General Harding stared for a moment at Adrian's coffee mug, before shaking his head again. "Adrian was always the smarter and more talented of my slowpoke twins. Adrienne was never quite as good at the psychic arts compared to him, but we loved and cherished her all the same – we were a team, that way.

"Once he evolved, though, he began asking the two of us lots of questions. Stuff about life, the universe, time, the metaphysical... it was all too much for us to comprehend, really. So, he began glancing into the future by meditating."

Silas let out a low whistle, _"And he ended up seeing some possible futures?"_

"Most likely," General Harding nodded. "But one day, he claimed to have seen something so... horrifying, so terrible, that he basically went insane. My team and I woke up one day to see that he had drawn all sorts of weird symbols and letters all over the place, and that he had even woken up my jellicent to ask it questions that he thought a ghost might have been able to help him with."

I shook my head. "And he's been insane ever since."

"For the most part," my boss sighed. "Most days, he sleeps while the sun is up, and spends the whole night staring at the sky. Sometimes he draws strange symbols or... crude pictures of some sort on the floor. Hell, most days he doesn't even speak coherently."

"So... what's this about the prophecy?" I asked him, hesitantly. "I heard a part of it at least, so I'm guessing that I'm involved?"

"No idea, kid – I myself have heard bits about it, but I wouldn't know if it's complete."

"_I heard something, too,"_ Silas chimed in, causing the two of us to stare at him with incredulous looks. _"What? He said something about the only sure bet being the worst kind of bet."_

"He never said-" I began, only to be interrupted by General Harding.

"See, kid?" he pointed at Silas. "I'm willing to bet that all three of us heard different aspects of the prophecy, all at the same time. Just ignore it, really – maybe it'll resolve itself in due time."

Leaning back in his chair, he took a sip of his coffee. "So, how can I help you today? You seemed mighty rushed just now."

For a moment, I stood there doing nothing but staring blankly at him. Only when Silas nudged my elbow using his tongue did I recall why I had rushed over to begin with, and so I placed Silas on General Harding's desk. "Well, someone or something seems to have blurred our memories of last night."

"_And we don't think it's the Darkrai,"_ Silas added, wagging his tongue at me.

General Harding merely raised an eyebrow in response to what we said. "And you think I'm capable of helping you recover those memories? I wouldn't advise it – not even those among us with psychic affinities dare to tamper too deeply with memory retrieval."

"Why not, sir?" I asked, feeling a mixture of cold fear and anger. Silas glared at him from the desk, and I got the impression that Silas was also entertaining similar thoughts.

"Well," he shrugged, "it's an old trick, really – steal someone's memories, and bury all lingering traces deep enough such that safe recovery is impossible."

"_How is that so?"_ Silas snorted. _"You can't lock up memories!"_

My commanding officer smirked at him. "Oh, but you can. Ever heard of selective amnesia? Well, this is _enforced_ selective amnesia we're talking about here."

"Wait a minute, sir," I narrowed my eyes at General Harding. "I have two questions."

"Shoot, kid."

"Firstly, you mentioned that _safe_ recovery of the memories was impossible," I raised an eyebrow. "And two, just how do you know so much about this?"

He got out of Linda, and plopped himself down into the swivel chair behind his desk. Leaning back in it, he scratched the side of his head thoughtfully. "Well, safe recovery would be impossible since trying to force them out might induce an aneurysm or some funny shit like that in your brain. And I know a decent bit about memory alteration because... well, I've done my share of it down at the Underground."

"An aneurysm, you said?" I blinked. "How is that possible?"

"_We're talking about memories here, for fuck's sake!"_ Silas snapped. _"They aren't time bombs, so who do you think you're trying to bluff?"_

"Silas!" I exclaimed, horrified at his language – well, he was normally even more profane than that, but this was my boss we were talking to!

"Alright, alright, I'll see what I can do to help," he held up his hands, laughing. "Goodness, but Silas can be such a potty-mouth... Tell me – just what can you remember from the... time period in concern?"

I frowned. "Nothing much, really."

"Alright, now I'm going to say some test keywords. You two tell me if anything comes to mind, alright?" he said slowly. "Psychic. Collude. Meeting. Venomoth. Ghost. Ring any bells?"

We thought about it for a few moments, until Silas spoke up. _"Nope, nothing here."_

"And you, kid?"

"Let me think for a bit," I mumbled, trying to get everything into some sort of working order. "Got something, but not quite sure what it was."

Upon hearing that, he leaned forward, interest visible in his eyes. Silas, too, turned to regard me with a curious expression. I reflexively flinched under the pressure from their simultaneous stares, and stepped back a little.

"Well, there are images. All quite blurred," I told them slowly. "Some glowing red objects? Some other vague stuff as well."

"As expected – nothing of significance," General Harding shrugged. "Nevertheless, I think I'll let a professional handle this, shall I?"

Before we knew it, Adrienne – probably the first and last pokemon Silas and I wanted to see right then – had materialized in the middle of the room. She took a look at us, and frowned. As if on cue, several sharp images sprang to the forefront of my mind as soon as I saw her. For a moment, I almost felt as if she would know something about all the mysterious happenings and our collective memory loss.

"Sir?" I asked nervously, as Adrienne gave me a curious expression. For a few seconds, I could feel as though an afterthought was lingering in my mind – definitely her working on some mental probing.

"_You know this isn't right, Zachary,"_ she said quietly, turning to her trainer. _"A third round, that fast?"_

"_Trainer?" _Silas squeaked, gazing at me with fearful eyes. _"Just what is going on here?"_

"It's not my fault his memory's so persistent. Just do it, Adrienne," he said, facial expression unreadable.

In the blink of an eye, everything went straight to hell, as everything went wrong and happened all at once.

Even as he spoke, my hand had gone to my sidearm. However, the shellder on Adrienne's tail let out a hiss upon seeing my sudden movement, and my pistol ended up flying into General Harding's grip before I could even blink. Adrienne's eyes glowed briefly, and Silas' shell suddenly slammed completely shut, trapping about half of his tongue outside.

Just as I was about to pounce on General Harding, Adrienne's eyes glowed once more. I froze where I stood, feeling as though my whole body had suddenly gone numb. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw General Harding removing the magazine from my pistol, and shaking his head with a regretful expression on his face – why did that look so familiar, I didn't know.

It was the last thing I saw before everything went black.


	22. Flavors

**Chapter 21 – Flavors**

When I woke up to the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling, I somehow got a feeling that it wasn't the first time I'd done that. Well, the ceiling itself wasn't entirely unfamiliar – it was the same, bland plasterboard that all the ceilings at port control were made of. Only when I looked around at my surroundings did I realize that I was actually in the medical bay, for some reason I couldn't comprehend.

Fortunately, Silas was right there beside me, in a small aquarium with cheerful-looking cartoons of starfish and corals on its sides. The streams of tiny bubbles coming out from between the halves of his shell let me know that he was indeed alive and that he was probably still in dreamland.

The question was, how in the eighteen levels of Chinese hell had I ended up being held up in the sickbay?

"Ah, good – you're awake," there came a wheezing voice from behind me that could only have belonged to one Doctor Esther. "Your shellder is still out for the count, though."

"His name," I rasped through a throat as parched as sandpaper, "is Silas."

"Whatever floats your boat, kid," the good doctor shrugged, as she stepped into my field of view. "Now, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Five. Is there some reason why I'm here... again?" I asked, trying to get up and getting shoved back into the pillow by everyone's favourite medical officer. "My physical was due for next month, wasn't it?"

"Well, you apparently got involved in some prophetic nonsense with Zachary's slowbro," Doctor Esther said, scribbling away on her clipboard. "The psychic whiplash knocked you out for a whole day flat."

"And Silas?" I glanced at his tank out of the corner of my eye – he seemed to be quite contentedly snoozing.

"Ah, he seems to have suffered from the psychic whiplash as well. Probably involved in the prophecy, but it's anyone's guess, really."

For a while, there was silence in the room, as she continued making notes and I tried to recall the prophecy I'd supposedly been privy to. I didn't feel a headache of any sort, which was probably good – psychics were known to leave nasty brain tumours as souvenirs of mind linkage on the odd occasion. And of course, nasty headaches were the earliest sign of their little calling cards.

Doctor Esther broke the silence soon enough, though. "If you don't mind me asking... what do you recall of the prophecy?"

"As of now? Nothing," I shook my head. "Everything's a big blur."

She glanced around furtively, before stepping closer to me. "If you want, I could... do something to try and clear that up."

"Oh?" I narrowed my eyes at her suspiciously. Was she about to drug me? "Not anything illegal, is it?"

"Technically, yes. And if you thought about it even more technically, no."

"... how contradictory."

She slipped a gloved hand into the pocket of her lab coat, and pulled out a pokeball. "One of my pokemon is particularly good at clarifying memories. Well, his main task is memory extraction during criminal cases, but then again, sharpening mental focus isn't too far off from that."

I felt a cold trickle of fear running down my spine. "And just how much will he see?"

"Depends on the degrees of mental association," she shrugged. "If two thoughts are very strongly associated with each other, then he'll see the connection between them immediately. Let's say you had a pathological fear of insects and the dark, for instance; memories of darkness and bugs will appear practically alongside each other."

I shook my head. "I don't think I'd appreciate him rooting through my mind, thank you. Maybe I'll recall it on my own time."

Doctor Esther smirked at me through cracked lips, her yellow eyes watering slightly as she nodded. "It's a little late for that, sweetie."

With a flick of her wrist, the pokeball opened, and revealed... nothing. It was as empty as a dusclops' body, and no pokemon materialized.

However, a soft, shuffling noise from behind my bed gave the pokemon's location away. I twisted my head to one side to try and see what it was, only to get a glance of the medical bay's door locking itself from the inside. Almost immediately after that, a pair of invisible hands latched onto my head, and forced me to look straight up at the ceiling.

Within moments, the psychic moved closer and leaned over my face, swinging a silvery object slowly from its paw. Its eyes were ringed by dark circles and had large bags under them, and its skin looked waxy and thin, almost as if it had been forcibly stretched over its skull. The swinging pendulum glittered with a palpable aura of menace, as if it was somehow in possession of a life of its own.

"_So __this __is__ the __subject?__"_ the hypno spoke up, looking to his mistress for instructions. _"__It__ will__ be __a__ delicate__ procedure.__"_

"Commence with caution," Doctor Esther's voice said disinterestedly. "I just need you to make him recite the prophecy."

The hypno's eyes glowed, and its charm began spinning in circles despite the fact that its paw was stationary. My vision began to blur, and for a few fleeting seconds, I felt a curious sense of detachment, as if my whole body had gone numb.

Random images began flashing through my mind, like a reel of film gone mad. Sometimes, the images were blurred or blackened, for some odd reason or another. Eventually, the hypno revealed an image of Adrienne standing in General Harding's office.

"_Perfect. Now, speak."_

When my lips began moving, the voice that passed through them sounded nothing like my own.

"There will come a time when souls will be among the currencies available for trade, child. You must then choose the price to be paid, and the means by which you shall pay for the chance to redeem more than you could comprehend beyond a lifetime. And ultimately, your lifetime shall never see any greater and fulfilling achievement than that which you shall devote your life to. It shall have purpose beyond comprehension, and impact beyond lifetimes."

With a hiss, the hypno pulled out of my mind, causing all the flashing images to suddenly vanish. It stepped back out of my field of view, and spoke to its trainer. _"__This __is__ beyond__ the__ expectations__ – __you __didn__'__t __tell__ me__ he__ would __be __involved __to __this __level.__"_

"And what did you expect me to know, Armando?" Doctor Esther snapped. "You're the psychic, damn it!"

"_He,__"_ the hypno said pointedly, _"__is __in __possession __of__ memories __linked__ to__ a__ possible__ future.__"_

"That's to be expected, you..." her voice trailed off as she apparently caught the meaning of his words. "Wait a minute... did you say _a_ possible future?"

"_That is correct. A singular pathway, but one which I cannot see clearly – it's almost as if something is blocking me from probing deeper into his mind."_

"Is it Adrienne's work?"

"_This __is __beyond__ her __ability,__"_ the hypno replied in an uncertain tone. _"__I__ think__ another__ psychic __has__ been __involved.__"_

"What about Zachary's insane slowking?" asked Doctor Esther curiously, "The combined effort between those two might have been sufficient, no?"

"_This is beyond the capability of any mere slowpoke evolution! I suspect that... they may be involved."_

"_They?_" the hypno's trainer echoed, disbelief evident in her voice. "Are you sure you don't need some sleep or something?

"_The efforts made to conceal the precise nature of the singular pathway... they were elegant in their simplicity. Never have I seen such secure mind-blocking before," _said the hypno, sounding rather tired._ "Oh, and before I forget – this one's commanding officer is approaching."_

"Wipe this conversation from his memory, then."

"_It is done."_

Three sharp knocks came from the medical bay's door, even as I heard a soft pop indicating that a psychic had just teleported away from the room – could it have been Adrienne? The answer to that question, however, presented itself as Doctor Esther moved over and unlocked the door, letting General Harding and Adrienne into the room.

"Jeez, doc," General Harding laughed, as he stepped into the medical bay. "Were you about to take advantage of my dear subordinate? He may be packing some heat down under, but that's highly unprofessional, isn't it?"

Doctor Esther let out a disdainful snort. "As if I'm that terrible a medical officer... you'd be more likely to screw him over than I would, and you know that!"

"Guys, I'm right here!" I croaked, flushing a little after the brief exchange of accusations between the two of them. "And umm, could I go get myself some water?"

"Might want to get out of that hospital gown first, though," muttered our resident mad doctor. "Your mooning of the hospital's personnel is a sort of urban legend around these parts, already."

"... yes, ma'am."

xxx

After a long day of General Harding grilling me over the prophecy – to the point that I could easily recite the whole damn thing from memory - I finally crashed onto my bed, and Silas hauled himself up onto my stomach. With a sigh, I ran a hand through my hair, and closed my eyes.

"_I__'__m__ hungry,__"_ Silas whistled. _"__And __that__'__s__ no __thanks __to__ you __skipping __dinner.__"_

"Hey, I got you some food, didn't I?" I mumbled, feeling my stomach protest a little in agreement with him – that damned traitor of an organ.

"But you didn't eat, and I usually steal your food," he reminded me, slapping his tongue against my chest. "Besides, that supper joint nearby is good, isn't it?"

"... I am not falling for your tricks, Silas."

"_Think__ of__ those__ juicy__ noodles!__ And__ that__ cute __bartender __with __the __green__ eyes__ and__ muscular__ arms!__"_ he chirped happily. _"__Not __to__ forget __that __waiter__ you__ made __out __in __the__ stock__ room __with, __of__ course.__"_

I glared at him. "And just how did you find out about the stock room incident?"

"_Please,__bitch__ – __when __your__ trainer __is __the __biggest__ gossip __item__ on__ this __side __of __Canalave, __you__'__d__ need __to __be __well-informed!__"_ he replied triumphantly. _"__So,__ shall__ we__ head__ to__ Diz__'__s?__"_

"Wait, _what?_" I gaped at him, sitting up. "What gossip item?"

"_I__'__ll__ cut__ you__ a__ deal,__"_ Silas said smugly. _"__We__ go __for__ supper,__ and__ you __get __the__ gossip.__"_

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I swear, if you try to back out of this one, I'm tying your tongue into a three-strand plait."

"_Deal."_

I got up and recalled him into his pokeball, and grabbed a T-shirt off my little writing desk. Pulling it over my head, I somehow managed to get myself into a pair of jeans, and made sure that my pistol was tucked securely in its usual spot near my back pocket. With a quick check for my room keys – in the left pocket as always – I completed my pre-outing routine, and left my dorm room.

xxx

As I walked the four blocks over to Diz's Coffee Shop, I kept a wary eye out for the night patrol pokemon groups. Once or twice, I had seen a few lampent hovering in dark corners with their flames dimmed, along with several swalot rummaging through a dumpster in a dark alley.

The lampent had been unsettling enough when they were first brought in, since they tended to congregate near windows to watch people as they slept. However, the swalot were another matter altogether due to their sheer venomous nature and huge appetites.

Briefly, I recalled General Harding mentioning that Canalave didn't have a resident poison specialist – and of course, that raised the question regarding the person who oversaw the swalots' activities. With that rather unsettling thought in mind, I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, and began walking at a slightly brisker pace.

"Hold it!" a sharp voice called out to me as I passed one of the last few alleys before reaching my destination. "State your name, rank, and purpose of excursion!"

I rattled off the relevant bits, and told the trooper that I was heading out for supper. In return, he demanded to see my identification.

"Say, you wouldn't happen to know who controls the swalot, would you?" I asked, as his houndoom scrutinized my ID and he drew a bead on me.

As his houndoom nodded, he shook his head, and finally holstered his firearm. "I don't, and that doesn't make this job any better. Now run along to your destination, and watch out for the lampent – they've already killed two people this week."

With a nod of thanks, I waved to him, and broke into a jog, the lampents' flames casting shadows on the streets, all the way to Diz's front door. It was with a sigh of relief that I pushed the door open, and stepped into the dimly-lit bar.

Diz's was an old establishment, it was. While it may have been a coffee shop as far as its sign was concerned, it was in actual fact, a bar. Hell, few even remembered the days when it was run by the old man named Diz – according to the locals, he'd died some thirty years ago, and it was only thanks to the efforts of a business tycoon of some sort that his former business remained operating.

Once I was in the bar and past the bouncer – who was playing cards with his machamp – I released Silas. "Alright, Silas – time for your end of the deal."

_"Food first!"_ he insisted, wagging his tongue at me. _"Then we can talk!"_

"Remember our deal, right?" I reminded him, as I walked up to the bar, and hailed the bartender. "Oi, can I have two beers and a plate of fried noodles?"

"If I say no?" the bartender smirked. "What'll it be, then?"

I smiled right back at him. "A fistfight out back, that's what. And perhaps some fun in the stock room after that."

He laughed. "Fucking teasing fruit, you are – two beers, and I'll give you a shout when the noodles are ready."

As I picked up the beers together with a saucer and headed back to my table, I saw Silas giving the neighbouring table's occupant the evil eye. Depositing the beers on the table, I tapped him on the shell. "So, what's with the glaring?"

"_That__ bugger__ gives __me__ the__ creeps.__ Don__'__t__ know__ why,__ but __he__ does,__"_ Silas replied, blowing a raspberry at the cross-eyed drunk. _"__So,__ you__ got__ food!__"_

"The noodles are cooking, so spit it out, Silas," I nudged him as I poured some beer into a saucer for him. "What's all this bullshit about me being gossiped about?"

Silas had the audacity to look smug as he replied, the bastard. _"__Well, __there__'__s__ the__ fact __that__ you__ have__ a__ huge __crush __on__ Zachary __Harding,__ for__ one.__ There __are__ fangirls__ at__ port __control,__ you__ know?__ So __there__'__s__ plenty __of__ speculation__ as __to __whether __you __two__ are__ getting __it __on.__"_

I gaped at him. "You've got to be kidding me."

"_Then there's the under-counter trade in locker room photographs and videos, which they get by bribing the custodians. Bet you didn't know that the janitors have a hidden camera in the locker rooms, now did you? All that black market military porn has to come from somewhere..."_

"Oh, gods – I'm not in any of it, am I?" I was getting steadily more mortified as Silas revealed all the dirty little secrets surrounding my apparent sex life – nearly nonexistent thought it may have been.

"_Well, it isn't anyone else's fault that you screwed that other dude in the lockers that day... Although I guess you could take consolation in the fact that the fangirls seem to enjoy those videos."_

I raised an eyebrow at him. "And you know all this, how?"

"_Please, __bitch__ – __I__ know__ everything,__"_ he retorted with a happy chirp. _"__Those __spinarak__ they__ use __to__ relay __memos __are __horribly __talkative, __really. __All__ you__ need__ to__ do __is __listen __and__ you__'__d__ get __lots __of__ nonsense__ out__ of__ them.__ When__ you__ go__ to __Adrienne __and__ double __check...__well,__ who__ knew?__ My __trainer__ is__ a__ porn__ star,__ apparently.__"_

"Well, shit!" I cursed, as I took a swig of my beer. "I'm guessing this isn't the worst of it?"

_"Surprisingly, it is,"_ Silas answered, sounding a little put-off. _"There's some stuff about how you mooned people in the hospital – so it seems you're also an exhibitionist – but other than that, the gossip mill seems pretty silent. It's only really active when the rumours about you and Zachary start up, alas."_

"You seem pretty disappointed that I'm relatively scandal-free," I pointed out, as he slurped up some beer from the saucer.

"_You__'__re__ quite __a__ vanilla __person,__ eh,__"_ he replied dismissively. _"__Not __too__ difficult__ to__ get__ along__ with,__ except__ for__ when__ you __try __to__ pull__ some __weird__ crap__ on__ me __like__ climbing__ drainpipes.__ So __I__ try __to__ amuse__ myself__ by __joining__ in__ on __the __gossip!__"_

"You, you... bastard!" I muttered, swatting him on his shell and causing some beer to splash into his eyes. "It's not like I'm deliberately a sadist-"

"_Only __to__ me,__ right,__"_ he said waspishly. _"__And__ look__ who __the __meowth__ dragged __in.__"_

I cast a glance at the door, only to see none other than General Harding stepping into the bar. He was decked out in black, and seemed to have some heavy stuff on his mind, if his expression was anything to go by. Thanks to the bar's bad lighting, though, he didn't notice us, and immediately went over to a corner table, where he flagged down a waiter.

"He looks serious," I told Silas. "Wonder what's on his mind?"

_"I have no idea, and I really don't care,"_ my shellder replied flatly. _"Where the hell are the noodles, anyway?"_

A quick glance towards the kitchen revealed that the cook was busy chopping something up with a cleaver, so it probably wouldn't have been advisable for us to stir up a ruckus over some stalled noodles.

"Looks like the cook is... occupied," I informed Silas. "You can wait here if you want, but I'm going over to bug him a little."

"_If there's anyone out there with a massive boner for him, it's you, sweetie."_

"I'll keep that in mind," I tapped him on the shell as I grabbed my beer and headed towards General Harding's table. He only noticed me approaching when I was about five feet away, and the abrupt shift in his facial expression wasn't something that I missed.

"Evening, kid," he drawled, as he cracked a peanut's shell. "What brings you here?"

"It seemed like you had a lot on your mind," I shrugged, as I sat myself down opposite him. "So I decided to keep you company."

General Harding popped the peanut into his mouth, and raised an eyebrow at me. "Maybe I was just in the mood to eat on my own for once, eh? Can't be a social animal all the time, contrary to what Maurice would've thought."

Not really knowing what to say to that, I took one of his peanuts – well, he had a bag of them on the table – and cracked it open. "If you say so, sir."

"Not that I'm trying to be antisocial like Fen," he mumbled as he chewed on a nut. "But sometimes, it's... soothing to have some quiet time."

"But eating alone..." my words trailed off as I remembered something I had heard quite a long time ago. "It is a sad person that eats alone, sir."

"And where did that come from?" he asked, with a look of amused curiosity on his face.

"My... late grandfather," I replied, feeling a little hesitant. "He always tried to avoid eating alone, sine he said food is what unites humanity."

He seemed to think my words over for a moment, nibbling on a peanut while he pondered them. "Your grandfather was a wise man, kid. I'm not joking when I say that those words are... surprisingly true."

"I just used to think that he was getting senile in his old age," I said softly.

Right about then, a waiter came by with General Harding's drink – it looked like a type of soda, but somehow reeked of vodka. He took the glass with a nod of thanks, and went back to munching on his peanuts, as did I. For a while, there was silence at the table, as the two of us ate peanuts and sipped from our glasses.

It was him that broke the silence after that, though. "You never went on an actual training journey, kid, so take my word for it when I tell you that being alone during meals... is probably one of the sadder things in life. It's a small thing, yes, but then again, the little things are those that matter, more often than not."

"Don't you eat many meals alone while travelling, sir?" I asked, as I watched a waiter deliver my plate of fried noodles to the table where Silas was still contentedly lapping up beer from his saucer. "I mean, you're on the road most of the time, no?"

"I always ate with Fen and Gary," he said absently, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "Or if they were elsewhere, I ate with my team.

"Those meals were the best meals I have ever had till this day, kid. It's a shame that you'll never get the chance to experience that; it truly was one of training's more memorable aspects."

I had no answer to that, and so silence settled down over the table once again. The peanut massacre continued, although it did come to an abrupt halt several times when the two of us encountered bad nuts that very nearly ended up being eaten, anyway. Eventually, a waiter came by with Silas, the saucer of beer, Silas' glass of beer, and the plate of noodles on a tray.

"The shellder asked to be brought over here, I think," he said gruffly. "Is that right?"

"Most probably," I nodded, unloading my food and pokemon from the tray. "Slow night tonight?"

He cast a look around the near-deserted bar, and nodded wearily. "Been this way since the night patrols came about. Hell, those lampent killing two civilians isn't helping matters any. But we'll survive – we always have."

Just then, the bartender rang the bell calling for him, and the waiter headed back to the bar. Silas slurped up some of the fried noodles, and I grabbed the fork to get some for myself before he ate the lot (for a bloody shellfish, he sure had a decent appetite).

"Fried noodles," mused General Harding, as he sipped from his Coke screwdriver – it was supposed to be a mixture of soda and vodka, I think. "Always a safe choice, they are."

"True enough," I nodded, as I swallowed the forkful of noodles.

General Harding gave me an odd look as I topped up Silas' saucer of beer. "Wait a minute... is that _beer_ you're giving him?"

"_Got__ a __problem __with__ that,__ Captain __Queer?__"_ Silas asked him flippantly.

"Silas!" I chided him, even as I sipped from my own glass of beer. "Well... it does help him sleep a little better at night. And it keeps him well-behaved sometimes."

He shook his head slowly, seemingly amused by my justification for giving my starter alcohol. "Cute, you two are."

We ended up lingering in the bar for a while, making small talk about current matters and work. Before we knew it, the electrical grandfather clock in the corner was striking one, and the lampent outside were hovering rather close to the glass windows in front of the bar, trying to see just who their potential victims were.

"Ah, it's late," General Harding said in an amused voice. "You guys got your own way out of here? The lampent are looking hungry."

"We have a duskull," nodded the bartender, even as said ghost floated out of the kitchen, wearing a chef's hat and cackling madly. "What about you guys?"

"Oh, we're walking with my swampert," he replied, letting Moivre out near the door. As soon as the muscle-bound pokemon saw the lampent, it threw the front door open and immediately began spewing streams of water at them, causing them to scatter in a panic. "Moivre just dislikes ghosts, heh."

"Goodnight to you gentlemen, then," said the bartender, as his duskull Shadow Sneaked the waiters out of the bar.

"Come on, kid. It's time to go."

"Got it, sir," I nodded.

Recalling Silas into his pokeball, I followed General Harding out into the darkened streets, where Moivre was already waiting for us. At the edge of my vision, I could see the lampent all lingering in the shadows, watching us through their glassy bodies. After about fifteen minutes of walking, we made it back to the hostel, where General Harding got the guards to open the gate for me – well, they were a little unhappy about me breaking curfew, but they opened it anyway.

Just as I was about to enter the compound, though, General Harding pulled me back. "One moment, kid."

"Sir? They want to close the gate, already," I replied, confused.

"Just wanted to tell you that, well..." he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Always remember all those things you learned when growing up, yea? And don't ever change."

"Why... what do you mean by that, sir?" I asked, even more confused than I had been.

"Sleep on it, kid, and maybe you'll get it," he shrugged, spinning on his heel and stalking off into the shadows alongside Moivre. "Goodnight!"

I watched him vanish into the darkness that covered the streets, before stepping through the gate and into the hostel's compound.


	23. Departures

**Chapter 22 – Departures**

Everyone had suspected that it was in the works, but no one had expected it to actually happen. When the newscaster read it out loud, even she seemed surprised at what she had just said. Port control had been buzzing with excited murmurs about it the whole day, so the evening bulletin's content was indeed a surprise.

You may be wondering just what the whole fuss was all about. Well, to put it simply and spare you the suspense, the news involved the re-legalisation of pokemon training.

"In a surprise move this morning, the government has decided to legalize pokemon training once again," read the newscaster, clad in her usual red suit and cheap costume jewelry. "Not even twelve hours ago, Grand Admirals Datamon, Jonathan Treacher, and Kingsley Desjardins issued a press statement that made training officially a legal option for the masses. This is the first time that the government has done so since the revolution, and no further statements have been issued as of the present."

Needless to say, most of the senior employees at port control were rather excited by the announcement – and not all in a good way. Generals Kylie and Claire were both ambivalent about the news, whereas my boss' good friends, General Fen and General Maine, were rather opposed to the whole idea of it.

Somehow, General Harding seemed rather supportive of the government's latest move.

"Isn't it a bit much, sir?" I asked him pointedly. "You did mention that most trainers were grossly negligent and incompetent."

"I did?" he seemed amused by my claims.

"Yes sir, you did," I nodded. "You did so several times, in fact."

He shrugged. "Ah, well – just have to look at it from a different angle, kid. Maybe now the masses can be armed against the terrorist threat, and the people in the Underground could actually see the light of day again."

I hesitated for a moment at the thought of the Underground's unruly mob of pokemon trainers being unleashed upon the world. "Don't most of them have outstanding arrest warrants? Dolph has a shoot on sight one, I believe."

"Eh, details," sniffed General Harding, propping his feet up on his desk, smudging the ink on his paperwork. "Whatever you think about it, though, the government's going ahead with this. Thankfully, they're using their brains on this one."

"Oh?" I asked him, my curiosity piqued – he tended to withhold little things during conversations to try and shock me, I noticed. "And just how are they going to make it different from the olden days, then?"

He smirked. "Remember how you had to go to Lorelei for a type consultation? Well, not everyone out there's going to have an affinity, but their compatibility and competency with a starter is going to be assessed before they're given a training license.

"And the best part about the whole business? We'll be the ones conducting the assessments."

That certainly got me off-guard. So it seemed that the government was going to make it possible for your typical person on the street to pick up training, but only after the military had had a say in the matter. Of course, the ultimate question was whether they'd force the assessments to be skewed in directions they wanted...

Only then did a thought strike me like a lightning bolt. "Wait, you said we'll be conducting the assessments on the training applicants."

"That is correct," he nodded, toying with his Rubik cube – the poor thing had been scrambled for the last five years, according to him.

"Does that include a psychological assessment?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. "I have a sneaking suspicion that you'd be prying into their thoughts using psychics if the answer is yes."

General Harding merely shrugged, though his eyes gave me the impression that he was agreeing with me. "No idea, kid."

xxx

I'm sure you'd agree that the whole day had been a rather exciting affair. But of course, things didn't settle down after that – that would have probably violated the laws of karma or something. Obviously, things only became even more interesting after we'd received the announcement on the reinstating of pokemon training for non-military personnel.

And by that, what I meant to say was that Ford the ariados turned up out of nowhere.

General Harding and I had just been about to clock out for the day, when Persiamon came bounding into his office. She looked as if she'd just run a marathon, what with her hackles all being raised and her veils being in complete disarray.

"He's back!" she trilled, sounding as if she was torn between breaking down in sobs of relief and punching a hole in the ceiling out of sheer jubilation.

"Who's back, you say?" General Harding asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ford!" Persiamon replied, looking as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, what are you two dunces staring at? Come and help me retrieve him!"

"Wait, _retrieve_ him?" I echoed, wondering just how and where he'd popped up. "Just where the hell did he appear? The vents?"

She shook her head, but was so excited that she ended up shaking her entire body like one of those spring-loaded dashboard ornaments. "He's down at the docks, near the power plant!"

That certainly got General Harding's attention. "What? That's dangerous! Lead the way, Persiamon!"

The feline digimon certainly didn't need to be told twice – she dashed out of the office light a speeding blur, leaving the two of us behind. We ran out after her, not even clocking out in our haste to catch up with her before she jumped out of a window or something, thanks to her excitement.

When we finally got down to the docks – deserted since the working day had ended about an hour ago – she was peering frantically down one of the ladders that led to the submerged parts of the docks' power plants. The power plants may have been built on the docks themselves to supply the machinery there, but most of the components which needed continuous cooling were submerged. Really, the engineering behind it all was quite elegant, as I was told – I myself loathed physics, to be quite honest.

"He's down there!" she said, pawing at her braided hair in dismay. "And I don't think I can make it down there safely to get him... Castor can't do it, either!"

The two of us – General Harding and I, that is – took a look down the ladder shaft, and saw that Ford was just barely visible in the near-darkness beneath the docks. He was apparently unconscious, and lay snugly in the junction between two beams that had been welded together, right over a humming tank that probably contained something really deadly, if the high-voltage labels were anything to go by.

"I'll be damned," General Harding whistled. "How'd you find him here?"

"One of the dock workers told me," she answered, still looking down the shaft. "Wild ariados don't appear within miles of Canalave, and he's the only one reported missing, so..."

"Can't Lawrence get him?" he asked her, furrowing his brow in thought. "He's capable of teleportation, right?"

Persiamon shook her head. "Lawrence needs a wide, flat landing space. If he tried to get down there, he'd probably end up falling between the beams."

"We'll have to get Adrienne to do this, then," my commanding officer nodded. "I'm surprised that no one from the docks tried to fish him out, though."

"They didn't notice him until just about three minutes before I'd gone to you guys," she said, as he let Adrienne out of her pokeball. "And there were no psychics among their teams."

"_No__ matter, __it__'__s __solved__ now,__"_ Adrienne said, as Ford the ariados soared up and out of his resting spot, still unconscious. Once he got closer, I saw that his eight legs hung limply from his body like strands of seaweed, and his fur seemed to be missing in small patches, as if it had been burned off. _"__Goodness,__ he__'__s__ hurt!__"_

"Put him here, Adrienne," General Harding said, taking his hoodie off and gesturing for me to help him spread it out on the ground. "Careful once he's on it, kid – we don't know if he's got any internal injuries."

We gingerly picked him up, and were whisked off to the medical bay by Adrienne in the blink of an eye. The room's lights had been dimmed, and no one seemed to be in. Persiamon, though, wouldn't have any of it.

"Doctor Esther!" she cried, slamming her tail down on a steel gurney. "Doctor Esther!"

"Someone called for me?" Doctor Esther's voice spoke up from behind us, making us jump and nearly causing us to drop Ford. "What's this about?"

"It's my ariados!" Persiamon said, even as everyone's favourite lunatic doctor stepped up to examine our precious cargo. "He's finally back, but someone hurt him!"

Doctor Esther immediately lifted Ford off General Harding's hoodie with a surprisingly delicate grip, and placed him on a nearby examination table. "Well, if it isn't the little ariados that went missing. Where'd he turn up?"

"The docks," General Harding said, as he tied his hoodie around his waist. "Anyways, should we leave or something?"

"You do that – I could do with a less crowded working space," Doctor Esther nodded. "Persiamon can stay if she wants, but it's all quite straightforward, really. I'll call for you if anything of significance occurs, but otherwise, he's safe here."

"Alright, then," my boss nudged Persiamon. "Are you coming with us, Persiamon?"

She seemed torn between wanting to stay with her pokemon and giving Doctor Esther a wide berth. "I think I'll wait outside, at the sofas."

"Take it easy, girl," he said, patting her shoulder as he headed for the door. "Don't worry about it – Ford's in good hands."

"Out, now," snapped Doctor Esther, as she began using a stethoscope on Ford's abdomen.

As we left, so did Persiamon. However, I thought I heard something as I passed port control's chief medical officer. When the meaning of the apparent words sank in, I became more confused than I had been when I'd first seen Ford down the ladder shaft.

I swear, it almost sounded as if she was saying something to herself that sounded quite like, "What the hell was Aaron thinking?"

xxx

"Sir, could I ask you a question?" I said to General Harding as we finally left port control.

"Depends on whether it involves embarrassing situations or classified information, like my genitalia," he replied with a bemused smirk. "Seriously, you should know me better than that by now."

I blinked noctowlishly at that. "Well, if you say so, then. Isn't Aaron Harrison dead?"

He stopped walking for a moment, and rubbed his chin in thought. "Aaron Harrison... hmm, was he the former bug specialist, green hair, very fond of jeans and anything sleeveless?"

"Yes, sir."

"He's one of the few who... went missing after the revolution," General Harding frowned. "What makes you ask?"

"Well..." I then told him about what I thought I'd heard Doctor Esther had muttered to herself back at the medical bay. If anything, his frown seemed to widen even more as I mentioned the purple-haired doctor's apparent involvement with a missing man who'd once been a league member.

"Just... Aaron's most likely to be dead, kid," my boss said, after some deliberation. "If he was still alive, there would probably be a warrant out for him, anyways. Given his affinity for bugs and the sheer number he had on him back in the day... well, I don't think that the digimon would've let him live."

I nodded, since what he said did make sense to an extent... but still, the whole thing seemed a tad suspicious. "Right... but what do you think she was on about, then?"

"No idea, kid – might have been something medical for all you know," he shrugged. "Maybe it was the name of a drug or something like that."

With a hesitant nod, I followed him to the diner where he'd taken Silas and I for our first meal together. However, I couldn't really shake off the feeling that I was missing something. Couple that with the fact that I'd had some suspicious dreams and headaches within the last three days and well... you'd probably understand why I was so on edge.

xxx

As usual, the food at the old greasy spoon – run by a crazy old pervert named Seeny Mohammad – was great. Silas got to eat his favourite dish of raw fish slices, whereas I had my spicy noodles and General Harding had his obscenely spicy fried rice. We saw General Fen sitting in a corner, munching on a meatloaf sandwich, and he merely raised an eyebrow when my boss flipped him off as a sign of greeting.

Ironically, General Fen was the only Asian among us, and he seemed to absolutely despise rice and noodles of any sort. Hell, even Silas seemed to be fond of the aforementioned carbohydrate overdoses, but port control's resident general with the obsessive-compulsive disorder seemed to keep his distance from them.

"So, I was thinking, I could use a vacation," General Harding suddenly said. "And so could you, for the matter."

"Oh?" I looked up from my noodles curiously. "What makes you say that?"

He swallowed his mouthful of rice, and leaned back in his seat. "Well, I haven't been back to see my folks in ages – and that's all the way from before you came into the picture. So it's been maybe a year? Or maybe a month or two added to that."

"Not that part, sir," I shook my head. "I meant why you said _I_ needed a vacation."

"Well, you've been a hardworking little bastard," he laughed. "Time you took some time off and enjoyed life a little."

"What?" I sputtered. "I- I'm not a hardworking bastard!"

"_You __totally __are,__ bitch,__"_ Silas chimed in happily, the traitor.

"Silas is right!" declared General Harding triumphantly. "When you came, you were all skin and bones, but hot damn, you have abs now! And several other rather aesthetically-pleasing bits of muscle definition, but that's not the main point here – the _point_ is that you need a break from the madness that is military life.

"Which is why, starting tomorrow, you're on a week's leave."

I gaped at him. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not – didn't you wonder why the paperwork workload became so fucking insane this week?" he said smugly. "Whatever can be delayed, I delayed, and whatever needed to be done has been settled."

"Well, I'll be damned!" I gawked at Silas, not knowing where else to look (and not wanting to see my boss' undoubtedly amused take at my facial expression).

"However, since I don't trust you to spend your leave wisely, the first four days of it will be spent tagging along while I visit the folks back at home."

"Wait, what?" I asked him, surprised by that last statement. "You're taking me to Sootopolis?"

He nodded, adding some more chilli into his rice. "Yes indeed. I believe it would do you a power of good to get out of Sinnoh, even if it's only to visit a city on a foreign continent. Plus, Sootopolis is one of the natural wonders of Gaia – everyone should visit it at least once in their lifetime."

"That's what they said about Snowpoint," I said. "There wasn't much to see aside from some weird-ass experiments over there, though."

"Ah, that's where you're sadly mistaken," he smirked, as he sipped from his cup of coffee. "Snowpoint's nothing much to look at, but it was something back in the day. The thing is, Sootopolis is still pretty much as it used to be."

"Still, sir, I don't think I'd be comfortable just dropping in on your family like that," I pointed out. "I'd feel horrible for doing that."

"Oh, I'm sure. That's why I got us both one week of leave – you'll be spending the last three days of it back with your parents in Jubilife."

"What?" I all but shrieked, drawing several surprised looks from the diner's other patrons. "And just what are you turds looking at?"

"I've called your mother," General Harding said, having the nerve to look smug about it. "She's very happy that you'll be going home for those three days, and says that she'll keep your father from disowning you."

"Sir," I hissed through grated teeth, "I don't want to go home, as much as I do appreciate the leave."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

I let out a relieved sigh. "Thanks, sir."

"Not so fast, kid – you've just made it necessary for me to abuse my rank."

"Well, fuck!"

"I hereby order you to accompany me to Sootopolis, and then to spend three days with your parents in Jubilife," he said with his usual shit-eating grin. You know the type I'm talking about – it was the one he plastered on his face when he was making sure someone else was getting thoroughly and utterly fucked.

"But you can't do that!" I said, almost sounding desperate. "That's an abuse of power!"

"Oh, I could worm my way out of trouble, but you're not quite as good at that," he drawled, nudging Silas. "Am I right, Silas?"

"_Alas, __the __bastard__'__s __right,__"_ my starter said, blowing a raspberry at him. _"__Trainer,__ you__'__re__ fucked.__ And__ not__ in__ the __nice__ way __involving__ a__ hunk __giving __your__ ass__ a__ pounding.__"_

There came a sound like a miniature thunderclap, followed by a sharp pain at the back my head and a ringing in my ears. When my vision stopped spinning, I saw no one save for an old lady standing next to me, with a venomous expression on her face.

"You vulgar thing!" she pointed at Silas. "Young man, is that not your shellder?"

"Yes he is, ma'am," I nodded, rubbing the back of my head and wondering just how she'd known what he was saying. "Though I must say, that slap was most uncalled for."

"You ought to teach him some manners!"

"_Tell__ the __old __crone __to__ shut it__,__"_ Silas said haughtily.

"This _old __crone_ is an electivire trainer with the bomb squad, you impertinent mollusc!" she snapped, pointing a bony finger at him. "I can understand every word that leaves your stinking sewer, shellder!"

"_Well,__ that __sucks,__"_ my shellder said in a bored tone. _"__Trainer,__ she __needs __a__ good __fucking.__ Maybe__ you__ should __oblige __her.__"_

"Why, I never..." she fumed, looking like a typhlosion about to use an Eruption attack. "Take this, you rude little whelp!"

Once again, she slapped me upside the head, causing me to see stars this time. As I reeled from the force of the blow, she stalked off towards the counter, presumably to settle her bill and get away from the profane shellder that had ruined her evening.

I rubbed the back of my head, and glared at Silas. "What the fuck was that about?"

He merely sniggered, and blew a raspberry at me. Giving up on glaring at him after a few seconds, I turned to General Harding instead. "And just why did that uptight old witch seem so familiar?"

"Familiar?" he echoed, bug-eyed. "She's Moira Hew's good buddy, kid – the same one you saw attacking and subsequently molesting that stripper with dear old Moira at the Cock Pit."

"Well, fuck me!" I grumbled. "Silas is the rude one, and I'm the one who got hit twice."

General Harding just laughed at me, the bastard – I really hoped that he got a persistent crotch itch in his sleep later. And don't even get me started on Silas.

The two of them might have been good friends to have around on a regular basis, but sometimes I did wonder if my sanity was being eroded by their mere presence.

xxx

When Silas and I got back to the hostel, we ran into a minor dilemma. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that I ran into the dilemma, and that it was pretty fucking major for a bit.

"Jeez, what the hell am I going to pack?" I wondered aloud – my wardrobe's array of civilian attire was severely limited. Hell, my wardrobe consisted of not more than ten pairs of clothes, and that included my two sets of uniforms and physical training gear.

"_You __could__ go __naked__ in__ Zachary__'__s__ house, __maybe,__"_ Silas suggested with a laugh. _"__I__'__m__ sure__ he__'__d__ enjoy__ the __view.__"_

"Hell to the no!"

"_Well, what else can you do about it? It's too late to get any clothes, and I don't think you've got any swimwear."_

I stared at him. "Did you just say 'swimwear'?"

"_Sootopolis __is__ by__ the __sea,__ you__ twit!__ Obviously__ you__'__d __need__ swimwear __to __go__ on __vacation __there,__"_ Silas huffed. _"__Unless__ you__'__re __into __skinny __dipping__ – __a__ squirtle__ might__ latch __onto__ your__ dick,__ though. __That__ is__ assuming__ of__ course, __that__ your__ dick __is__ not__ woefully__ under-sized.__"_

"Watch it," I growled, smacking him on his shell. "I think I'll avoid swimming during my vacation all the same, thank you very much."

After a short period of packing – well, six sets of clothes didn't take long to pack – I finally found myself lying down in bed, with Silas on my stomach as always. His shell felt a little colder than it normally did, though.

"_So __tell__ me,__ Trainer,__"_ he said absently. _"__What__ are__ your__ folks__ like?__"_

"Eh?" I asked, half asleep – I couldn't understand why he always started conversations just about when I was nodding off.

"_Your mother and father, that is? How are they like?"_

I thought about it for a bit. "Well... mom's always been a worrywart. And dad's more of a workaholic, so I didn't see much of him when I was growing up."

_"Sounds like a lovely family,"_ Silas said, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm. _"No wonder you've turned out so wonderfully."_

"We can't all have what we want, Silas. All I wanted back then was to go out and be a pokemon trainer just like all the other kids," I told him softly, though whether the soft tone was due to drowsiness or wistfulness, I couldn't say. "Instead, I went to high school, finished that, and ran away to join the army."

"_You __should have joined the circus instead__,__"_ he snorted. _"__Given__ your __alarming __tendency __to__ be__ clumsy,__ that__ may__ have __been__ safer__ than__ any__ occupation __involving __firearms.__"_

"Maybe, but whatever," I mumbled, a verse of long-forgotten high school English class suddenly popping into my mind. "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I... I took the road less travelled by, and that has made all the difference."

For a short while, he remained silent, before speaking up again. However, this time his voice held a note of surprise in it. _"__That__ almost__ sounded__ poetic,__ Trainer.__"_

"It was one of Robert Frost's poems," I told him sleepily. "It was called 'The Road Not Taken', I think... Yes, that's the one."

"_Huh. Never knew you had such a sentimental bent in you."_

"Goodnight, Silas."

"... Goodnight, Trainer."

xxx

The very first thing I noticed when the ground beneath my feet had stopped shifting was that the air smelled like the sea.

Don't get me wrong, Canalave smelt a lot like the sea, but this smell was... nothing less than the purest ocean breeze. It was untainted by the industrialization that had decimated the shoreline at Canalave, and seemed to blow about the coast with a lazy sort of force. I took several deep breaths of the salty sea breeze, feeling an odd sense of contentment settling down over me.

Up ahead, not fifty feet away, the cone of a gigantic volcano rose out of the rocky coastal ground like a colossal shrine to the gods. Several openings were visible all over its slopes, and small buildings studded the solid rock on its sides like a sableye's gems. Part of the volcano's base was submerged, causing the waves to break into explosions of white sea-foam as they hit it.

General Harding's jellicent shuddered and slipped into the water, its bloated body deflating and flattening out as it submerged itself beneath the green waves. Within seconds, the massive aquatic ghost pokemon had vanished into the ocean's depths, where it would make its way into Sootopolis through the underwater caverns that led into the volcano itself.

I bit back a shiver as I watched it disappear, since being teleported by a ghost was... different than being teleported by a psychic. Or maybe it was just the jellicent – its species was renowned for their life-draining skill, after all. Heck, I don't even think it was teleportation or a Shadow Sneak, since jellicent weren't known to be capable of using either move.

Guess only the gods knew what it had done to help us hop between the continents.

"Good, we made it in excellent time!" General Harding declared happily, looking perfectly comical in his cargo pants, pink tank top - with a caricatured penis on it - and aviator sunglasses. "Come on, kid!"

For the record, I was definitely not checking him out in that body-hugging tank top right then, thank you very much.

"Why did we have to stop outside here, again?" I asked, as we plodded along the rocky ground towards a large opening in the side of the volcano that resembled a cave of some sort.

"Well, security measures, kid. Ah, good – the gate's already open!" he said, as we came within twenty feet of the entrance. "Oi, is anyone there?"

A quagsire's head popped up from behind a boulder near the entrance as soon as he shouted at the apparently unguarded opening. The water fish pokemon let out a hoot that carried across the barren landscape, startling a flock of wingull that had been pecking about some rocks near it. Even as the bird pokemon took to the air with a whole lot of raucous squawking, a tanned woman with coppery hair appeared next to the quagsire, accompanied by a starmie.

"So, General Harding!" she called out, grinning widely. "Back from the dead, huh!"

"Nice to meet you too," he smirked. "I trust we're cool for entry?"

"Indeed – and nice shirt," she laughed, gesturing for us to follow her. The quagsire went back to leaning against the rock and twiddling its stubby fingers, offering us a wave as we passed it.

We entered the rocky cave leading into the volcano that was Sootopolis, and I saw for myself how thick the volcano's walls were – the tunnel we were in was long enough to have lanterns illuminating its middle portion, and the exit was probably more than a hundred feet ahead of us. Behind us, a grinding sound could be heard as the tunnel's blast door sealed itself, sliding out of the rocky slopes where it had been concealed.

Once we cleared the tunnel, though, I felt my jaw drop in awe.

The rim of the volcano was so high above us that its opening was but a tiny circle of light, and the walls of the volcano were criss-crossed with stairways and dotted with buildings set into the rock. Down at our level, the sea had made its way into the city, and was lapping lazily at the sandy shores within the dormant volcano. Numerous buildings and even a colossal shrine were visible along the shores, all built on sturdy-looking pillars – probably in case of flooding.

General Harding and our female guide laughed at my expression of wonder. "Welcome to Sootopolis, kid!"


	24. Sootopolis

**Chapter 23 – Sootopolis**

Sootopolis was ranked as one of the wonders of the world, and it wasn't hard for me to see why. As I walked along the sandy streets towards General Harding's home the things I saw were nothing short of amazing, from the fish market right by the water's edge to the houses built on pillars that didn't actually touch the ground.

The most incredible sights, though, had to be the wall-hugging parts of Sootopolis city.

From what I knew about Sootopolis' history, construction of the wall dwellings had begun some millenia ago when the dormant volcano was initially colonized by a long-dead race. The land at the bottom of the volcano had been prone to flooding, and so they had built their homes into the sheer walls of the volcano itself. Resembling massive, lattice-like structures, the scaffold-like constructs extended nearly halfway along the volcano's walls.

According to General Harding, they were presently used by the locals for commercial purposes. Sootopolis' modern inhabitants had simply bored tunnels through the rock and granted external access to the wall dwellings, complete with helipads where they opened up to the outside world. Otherwise, he said, no one really lived in them, since their maze-like structures made it damn near impossible to find your way around without a teleporter.

Well, admittedly, the rundown state of some of the corridors and walkways also made falling from several hundred feet in the air a possibility for those who went skulking around in the derelict structures.

As we headed to his home, people called out greetings to General Harding, and some even stopped us for a short chat. Most of them were elderly folk who seemed rather fond of him, and who were quite happy in telling others that they'd known him since before he'd gone off to become a hotshot trainer. The rest were teenagers and children of various ages, all of whom he'd not seen since he last visited – I'm still wondering whether his surprise at their current appearances was really that great.

"Here we are, kid!" he said happily as we walked up to a house somewhat close to the water's edge. "Home, sweet home, or at least for me it is."

"Are you sure your family won't mind me, sir?" I asked again, nervously. "I mean, I could try to get a place at the barracks or something."

"Nonsense!" he huffed, as he stopped to take his sunglasses off. "They'll love to have a new kid to harass- I mean fuss over. Everything's going to be cool!"

Just then, the front door opened, and a broom walked out. Or at least, that's what I thought I saw. When I blinked twice and rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't hallucinating, I saw that yes, the broom had indeed made its own way out of the house, and that it was presently sweeping sand off the stairs of its own accord.

"Umm, sir," I said, not believing my eyes, "there's a broom sweeping your house's steps."

"What about it?" he asked me nonchalantly, even as he turned to look at the broom. "Well, that's what brooms do, isn't it? Sweeping stuff?"

"But there's no one using it!"

He smirked at me. "Kiddo, of _course_ there's someone using that broom! Are you saying that there are poltergeists in my home?"

"No, sir-"

"Hell, I bring you to visit my folks, and here you go, claiming my home is haunted!" he said, frowning. "I ought to feed you to my jellicent and cover up your death somehow."

"Wha- what?"

After glaring at me for a few seconds, he burst into a cackling fit. "Heh, I can't believe you fell for that!"

"Sir!" I exclaimed, covering my face with my hands. "Can we just... go inside?"

"Whoa! I know that you're aware of my sexual orientation, but that's a little bit too fast for me, kid!"

"_Still __as __maniacal __as __ever, __I __see,__" _said a dry voice from the house's direction. I turned to look, and lo and behold, a gardevoir was hovering next to the broom, watching us with an amused expression on its face. _"__Nice __tank __top, __Zachary.__"_

"And you're still trying to be the sorcerer's apprentice, I see," General Harding retorted with a glint of amusement in his eyes. "But it's nice to see you again, Ben. Does Mom know that we're here yet?"

"_I __have __not __said __anything __to __her __presently, __since __I __thought __you__'__d __want __to __ambush __her,__" _the gardevoir said, moving down to our level and giving me a once-over. _"__Cute __sex __toy __you __have __here.__"_

"What did you say?" I sputtered, as both the gardevoir and his trainer had a good laugh at my expense. "I'm not his... sex toy!"

"He's not, Ben," said my boss, nodding frantically amidst laughs. "Dear gods..."

Ben the gardevoir positively lit up upon hearing that. Floating closer to me and leaning against my shoulder, he then looked at his trainer and batted his eyelashes at him. _"__In __that __case, __can __I __have __him? __I __promise __that __we __won__'__t __do __anything __excessively __kinky.__"_

While I tried not to puke in the perverted psychic's face, General Harding sighed and stepped in to pry him off me. "No can do, Ben. Just the thought of what you might do to my poor assistant makes me feel ill – no offense. And forget kinkiness, the very idea of humans screwing with pokemon is a damned sick thing."

"_Alas, __I __remain __alone, __then,__" _Ben sighed melodramatically. _"__Perhaps __someday __I__'__ll __find __someone __who __wouldn__'__t __mind __indulging __my __libido, __or __maybe __that __dishy __medicham __down __the __road __would __return __my __affections. __But __it __looks __like __for __now __I__'__ll __just __have __to __be __patient.__"_

"You're such a drama queen, Ben."

"_And __a __drag __queen,__" _said the gardevoir, twirling on the spot to show off his skin skirt – which I had just noticed was not the usual cloak-like outfit worn by male gardevoir. _"__Anyway, __off __you __two __go! __I__'__ve __got __to __clean __up __the __front __of __the __house __today, __or __Mom __will __have __a __cow!__"_

"Nice to see that you're still normal," General Harding laughed, as we went up the stairs and took our shoes off before entering the house. "See you later, Ben!"

I frowned at the gardevoir's back, even as he picked up the broom and began treating it like an imaginary microphone, while apparently attempting to moonwalk in mid-air. "Is he alright? Mentally, I mean."

"Eh?" my commanding officer looked out at the dancing psychic, and smiled slightly. "Ben's always been a touch flamboyant. Even his name's a fancy name, hah!"

"Benedict?" I guessed, as I took in the sight of his home's living room – it looked very cosy indeed, and that big sofa in the corner seemed to be the comfortable type by virtue of its apparent age.

"Correct," he nodded, as he picked up our shoes and placed them on a small shoe rack next to the door.

The living room wasn't too spacious, with a small television set sitting atop a quaint-looking bookshelf in the corner opposite the sofa. Two closed doors were along the living room's right wall, and the left wall had a hallway leading towards the other half of the house. Age-smoothened planks made up the floor, and several yellowed photographs had been hung on the walls.

"And why's he doing the skin skirt instead of the cloak?" I asked, once I had finished looking around. "Ben, I mean."

General Harding laughed, and gestured for me to follow him. "He was thinking of getting the cloak as a kirlia, but decided that if Fen, Gary, and I could go around topless all the time, he'd do the same. So he started with a loincloth-thing after he evolved, and slowly extended it when his opponents started attacking his legs."

"... I'll never know what to expect of you and your pokemon, sir," I muttered, as Ben used his telekinetic powers to jab at a passing divermon with the broom. "Wait, he went on your journeys with you?"

"Well, sure! But he ultimately decided to stay home and help my folks keep the house in order, so I only see him whenever I come back here," he said, suddenly holding out a hand to stop me in my tracks, even as he lowered his voice. "Now, shush! We've got a person to ambush."

He slowly crept up along the hallway, and silently went through a doorway on our right. Not making a sound, I went after him, and peeked in through the doorway. From what I could see, he was stalking up behind a rather petite woman who was washing dishes in the sink – given the array of utensils I saw in the room along with a stove, the room was definitely their kitchen.

"Give me all your money!" he snarled, as he jumped behind her and placed his hands over her eyes. "Money or life, woman?"

"I'd say 'take my wife', but then again, I _am_ the wife in this house," she said, amusement creeping into her voice. Seemingly unfazed by the fact that someone had covered her eyes, she began washing soapsuds off her hands and towelled them off. "Now, just uncover my eyes and let me give you a hug, Zachary!"

"Aww, Mom!" he pouted, letting her go and stepping back. "Couldn't you play along at least once? You're no fun to prank anymore."

She turned around with a soft laugh, and hugged him tightly around his middle – given her height, that was where she stood. "It's been too long, Zack! You really ought to visit us more often."

Still holding him, she leaned back, and scrutinized his profile. "Still wearing these obscene clothes, I see. And you're looking thin – have you been eating properly?"

"Mom!" he whined, unable to do anything since her arms were holding his against his sides. "We've got a guest, and you're embarrassing me in front of him!"

"Pish posh!" she scoffed, letting him go and elbowing him in the stomach. "No man is ever too old to be mothered! And I'm going to have a chat with Adrienne later, to see if you _have_ been eating right.

"And what's your name, young man?" she said, turning to me with a smile. "I trust Zachary hasn't been too much of a handful over at Canalave?"

"No, ma'am," I replied, taking note of her appearance. Her hair had been swept back into a messy plait, and she had a light tan, with several slight wrinkles on her face. It was her eyes that caught my attention, though – they were the exact same shade of blue as General Harding's. "He's been kind to me, for sure."

"That's my boy," she nodded approvingly. "So, you boys just missed lunch! But between your father, Ben, and I, we don't eat much, so if you want, I'll heat up the leftovers? And before you ask, Zack, we had fried fish."

"I'm cool, but you, kid?" General Harding asked me, as he opened the fridge. "Her fried fish is good, seriously."

I shook my head. "Oh, no thank you. We need to get unpacked, anyway."

His mother smiled, and nudged him in the ribs as he drank some orange juice straight out of the carton. "Handy assistant, he is. And how many times must I tell you not to do that? Gods know what you've had in that mouth of yours."

"Uh, I'll have to check that out," he shrugged, as he put the depleted carton of juice down on the countertop. "Let's see... Fen's dick's for sure, maybe a few others, and food? I don't keep logs of what goes in, you know."

I think I nearly choked on my own saliva when I heard him so casually mentioning the fact that he'd sucked several guys off to his own mother.

She sighed, shaking her head. "Incorrigible as always, I see. So, be a good host, Zack, and take him to your room. Oh, and take that carton with you – I doubt your father's going to drink anything from it now that you've desecrated it."

"Yes, Mom," he said happily, leaning in to grab the carton and giving her a hug at the same time. "Hmm, it's great to be home."

"Go on, son," she said, shooing him towards the doorway once he let her go. "And if you see him, tell Ben that I'm game for some Blackjack later, if he's up to it."

"Will do, Mom," he nodded, even as he left the kitchen.

"Nice meeting you, ma'am," I bowed my head to her, causing her to laugh.

She turned back to the sink. "You're a polite one, that's for sure. Now run along with Zack, since I've got this washing up to finish."

I headed out of the kitchen, and saw Adrienne walking towards it. She waved at me, and walked past me as I made my way back to the living room. Of the two doors that had been closed earlier, the one on the right was open with a pink tank top hanging from its doorknob, and I could see General Harding's bare back as he pulled a dust cover off the bed in the room.

Well, so it looked like Ben wasn't the only one who went around the house topless. At least my boss wasn't wearing a skirt.

As I approached his room, the other door flew open, revealing a broad-shouldered man in a T-shirt and sarong. Despite his intimidating build, his facial expression was jovial, and he brightened up upon seeing me.

"Ah, you must be Zack's friend!" he said, offering me his right hand. "Had a good trip?"

"I'm his assistant, actually. And umm, we teleported or... something with his pokemon," I said, shaking his hand and trying to avoid wincing as he nearly crushed mine in his grip. "It was alright."

"Well, he should be helping you to unpack, or something!" he said, stomping out of his room. "Oi, Zack! Get your ass over here and help your friend get settled in!"

"I'm here, Dad," General Harding said, leaning against his room's doorframe. "Nice to see that you're still as vibrant as ever."

Guffawing, Mr. Harding turned to me and clouted me on the back, causing me to stumble forward. "You hear that son of mine! What he means to say is that his old man's one hell of a loud bastard, even in my old age, HAH!"

"Good to see you, too, Dad," General Harding winced as his shoulder got squeezed in the man's iron grip.

"Go and get a shirt on, you miscreant! Can't you see that we've got company?"

"I _know_ we have company, Dad," he rolled his eyes. "I brought him here, didn't I?"

"_And __between __the __two __of __us, __we__'__ve __got __a __majority __on __being __shirtless!__" _declared Ben, as he entered the house. _"__You __really __ought __to __try __it, __Mr. __H.__"_

Mr. Harding snorted and waved his hand in disdain at the two of them. "Nah, I'll pass. I spent more than twenty years doing that, and got more than my fair share of sunburns. I'll settle for retirement in a shirt, thank you very much."

"He's just trying to hide that beer belly," whispered my boss, leaning in and casting a sly look at his father. "Oh, and Ben, Mom says she's game for Blackjack later."

"I _heard_ that, Zachary. Now, why don't you take your buddy here and show him the sights? Heck knows Sootopolis has enough of them to go around," Mr. Harding said, raising his eyebrow. "And just how much money does she owe you again, Ben?"

"_Presently, __Mom __owes __me __thirteen __thousand __dollars,__" _he said, after a moment's pause. _"__But __then __again, __she __has __a __horrible __poker __face __and __cooks __well, __so __I __keep __track __more __for __the __fun __of __it.__"_

"I'll leave you guys to your fun, then," General Harding smirked as he grabbed his tank top from the doorknob. "We'll be going down to town, and maybe the market – anything you need?"

"_Hmm, __if __they __have __fresh __fish, __then __some __wouldn__'__t __be __amiss,__" _Ben said, after some thought. _"__Oh, __and __we __need __eggs, __as __usual. __We __seem __to __have __run __out __of __them, __again.__"_

"Hear that, son?" Mr. Harding laughed, clapping me on the back again. "We're a devoted household of egg-eaters, here! Shame I was a trainer and fisherman instead of a chicken farmer, but there you have it!"

"Alright, let's head out before my dad whacks your lungs out or something," General Harding said, as he steered me towards the house's front door. "See you later, Dad!"

"See you, Mr. Harding," I said, as I picked up my shoes from the rack, and headed down the stairs to where General Harding was already bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager as a bibarel. "So, where will we be headed?"

"To the market, and beyond!" he said, placing his hands on his hips and looking perfectly comical.

I didn't even know what to say to that, so I just tried to keep up with him as he practically waltzed down the street towards the market that we'd passed earlier.

xxx

One whirlwind shopping trip later – who knew that General Harding was that good at haggling? – found ourselves heading back to his house to drop the fish and eggs off. Upon our arrival at the house, though, we saw that the Blackjack game mentioned by Mrs. Harding earlier was already on. According to General Harding, Ben was winning, though Mr. Harding and the teddy bear seemed to be close seconds.

"So each round won is indicated by a chip?" I asked him, as we watched Mr Harding shuffling the cards.

"Yup, we use real casino chips here, young man!" Mrs. Harding declared proudly. "No denominations on them, though."

"... How does the teddy bear play?" I asked her, watching as Ben used his powers to deal out two cards to each of the four players. "And what does it do with the money if it wins?"

Mrs. Harding shrugged. "Well, it got boring, playing with just the three of us. So we just deal two cards to it, and if it wins any money, we put it aside for groceries or something."

"We do weird stuff like this all the time!" her husband nodded enthusiastically. "Even a teddy bear can be a breadwinner, this way!"

The teddy bear remained silent, with two cards tucked in its paws.

"Right..." I nodded, wondering just how much of my boss' insanity had been inherited versus that which he had acquired. "That's interesting."

"And we've still got a city to terrorize!" said no one other than the mad general himself. "So toodles, people!"

"Be back for dinner, son!" his mother called out as we left the house. "You too, kid!"

"_And __the __teddy __bear __wins __again!__" _Ben cried out, causing Mr. Harding to furiously accuse it of cheating.

"Come on, kid," General Harding sighed, rolling his eyes. "They've been doing that since I was five, and even I don't understand it."

"So, where are we going, sir?" I asked him, as we walked towards the shore.

"Well, we'll need to retrieve my jellicent," he answered. "And then, maybe I'll show you the entrance to the Origin Cluster! Bet you've never been even remotely close to such a dangerous place before, eh!"

I stared at him. "Are you kidding me? Why would I want to go near such places, anyway?"

"For the thrills? For fuck's sake?" he shook his head. "Live a little, man!"

It took us about ten minutes of walking along the coast before we found his jellicent, and another ten minutes to persuade it against killing that unfortunate wartortle. Alas, we were too late. Then, we just had to try and hide the wartortle's body, but ended up letting the jellicent devour it instead.

And after that, we headed down to the entrance to the Origin Cluster.

"Here we are, kid," General Harding said, watching the cave with what sounded like a mixture of apprehension and awe in his voice. "One of the Origin Cluster's various entrances."

"I see," I said, somewhat nervous with our proximity to the infamous cavern. "It has five more entrances, doesn't it?"

"Hmm, let me think," he said, staring off into space a little. "It has this entrance, the Sky Pillar, and the Scorched Slab? Most of the other entrances were destroyed when the pokemon inside tried to venture out and people decided to stop them."

"And you guys built a city around it?" I raised an eyebrow at his statement. "Why are we standing around like this, anyway? This place is dangerous!"

He laughed. "Relax, kid – we're safe here. The cave might be right here, but the tunnels dip down into the water further in. Unless you had a very murderous water-type in there, none of the Cluster's inhabitants will be coming out through this entrance."

"Wait, so how did you go into the Cluster?" I asked him. "Did you have a pokemon that knew Dive, or something?"

"Who said I ever went in there?" he shot back, looking innocent.

"You are General Zachary Harding. Need I say more?" I deadpanned.

He smirked. "Well, Moivre knows how to use Dive. I went in there on his back, with Meg leading us and Ursula clinging to Moivre's tail fins and watching our backs. But still..."

I didn't miss the dark look that passed over his face. "What happened?"

"The flooded tunnels are all full of seawater," he said, after a moment's hesitation. "So there are openings where the sea connects to them, and those are usually the bright parts of the tunnels. Otherwise, the tunnels are completely dark."

"Wait, so you wouldn't even be able to see if you were headed in the right direction?" I said, not believing my ears. "How would you know if you were going along the right path?"

"That's part of the challenge, kid," he shrugged. "Anyway, those bright spots are nearly what killed us down there. See, there's a strange type of phosphorescent algae that grows down in the tunnels, and we ran into them once or twice when we tried to renew our air supply.

"We knew that something had gone wrong when we ran into a whole lot of bones near a bright patch, and couldn't find any openings."

"What happened then?" I asked him, half-dreading the answer.

"Turns out, a huntail was lurking near the bright spot. It tried to take a bite out of Moivre, but Meg managed to kill it before it actually got to us," he said, shuddering as he glanced into the cave. "We barely managed to make it into the Cluster itself before Moivre collapsed due to exhaustion."

"Holy shit," I whistled. "And you couldn't turn back after the huntail attacked you?"

"We'd come too far to make it back, then," he shook his head. "And besides... I lost a pokemon during my first attempt at passing through the tunnels. We never knew what took her, but I lost my whiscash down there – one moment she was right behind us, and next thing we know, Sharon's vanished without a trace."

"What?" I could hardly believe it. "And you went down there _again?_"

"It would have been dishonouring her memory if we hadn't succeeded!" he snapped, sounding frustrated. "Otherwise, she would have died for nothing."

We stood there for a while, watching the tunnel in silence. It felt weird, being so close to such a dangerous place, and yet not having to worry about deadly wild pokemon ambushing us. From what I knew about the Cluster, entire colonies of unbelievably powerful pokemon lurked within its shadowy tunnels. One could supposedly end up on another continent since the tunnels all connected to the likes of Cerulean Cave, Mount Silver, and Stark Mountain, but no one had ever survived in them long enough to actually make it out through another continent.

General Harding broke the silence. "The things we ran into in the Cluster were... terrifying. Lots of powerful ghosts, like dusknoir, banette, and sableye, but the bugs and poison-types were the worst."

"Bugs scared you? Just how strong were they, anyway?" I asked him, wondering just how creepy the Cluster's insectoid inhabitants could have been.

"When they're strong enough to knock out half of your team single-handedly, bugs are bad, okay? At first we thought we were hearing things, until that crustle revealed itself... And that fucking muk... damn it, I'm still phobic of muk till today thanks to that incident," he made a face. "Seriously, bugs and muk have given me the creeps terribly since I went to the Cluster."

"Shall we go, sir?" I asked him, noting that the little patch of sky that was visible through the volcano's opening was already beginning to take on the tint of twilight. "It's going to get dark soon."

"Agreed – and it's dinner at my place, too!" he said, brightening up at that thought. "Now, at least you'll be able to tell others that you've seen the Origin Cluster, or at least, one of its openings."

As we headed back, I asked him the question that had remained on my mind. "Why did you go down there, sir?"

"The Cluster?" he asked, looking thoughtful.

"Well, yeah. Going down there is like a death sentence, no?"

He seemed to pause for a moment, before giving me his answer. "You see, that's where you're wrong, kid.

"All of us would have had our own reasons for going down there. But I think it's safe to say that at the end of the day, we go down to the Cluster to live."


	25. Town

**Chapter 24 – Town**

When we got back to his house, General Harding's father was flapping a rug outside, while a hovering carpet beater gave the cloth a decent whacking. Ben the gardevoir was chatting with a woman who had a baby in her arms, and whenever he laughed, the carpet beater's aim tended to waver a little. Mrs. Harding was nowhere in sight, though a rather lovely smell wafting out of the kitchen window suggested that she was at work preparing dinner in there.

"So, let's see if Mom needs a hand, shall we?" General Harding said, as he bounded up the stairs and through the house's front door. "She's getting older and the food isn't getting any worse, so I'm guessing that she's been working proportionately harder over time!"

When we got into the kitchen, I saw that his mother was indeed fixing up dinner. A bubbling pot was on the stove, and a covered wok was on the other burner. She herself was at the sink, where she was rinsing off some vegetables. Whatever it was that gave off the smell through the window was clearly in there with us, since it was noticeably stronger once we crossed the kitchen's threshold.

"Need any help, Mom?" he asked, lifting up the pot's lid and taking a peek inside it.

"Ah, just on time!" she replied, as she began speedily slicing up the vegetables. "Stir the stew, will you? The fish ought to be ready soon enough, so just lower the flames on the wok a little."

He did as she requested, and began stirring the pot's contents. As he did so, the pleasant aroma that had been filling the kitchen grew stronger, and it became evident that the stew had been the source of the smell.

"Anything I can do to help?" I asked, feeling a little out of place.

"Oh, it's alright! You're a guest!" she chirped, as she hopped over to the stove and threw the sliced vegetables into the stew. "Just go and help with the carpet beating, if you really want to do something – we're almost done in here."

"Ah, alright," I nodded, heading out of the kitchen. I got out of the house, and saw that the first rug had already been beaten, and that Mr. Harding was flapping a second rug about as Ben used his telekinesis to beat it with the carpet beater. "Need any help, there?"

"Oho, we could always use a hand!" laughed Mr. Harding. "Grab the other end, and help me flap it about faster!"

I did as I was asked, and soon enough, what little dust was left on the carpet had been completely beaten off. Ben nodded with satisfaction, and within the blink of an eye, both of the dusted carpets had lifted themselves into the air, rolling themselves into tight rolls. They floated off into the house, and the gardevoir followed them in, giving me a playful smack on the ass as he passed me.

At least, I hoped that the smack was playful and nothing more.

"So, you're not from Canalave, are you?" Mr. Harding asked me, as he clapped me on the back. "Your accent says you're most probably from the Coronet area, if I'm not mistaken!"

"Jubilife, sir," I nodded as I tried to let my lungs settle back into position after his clout. "Though I did spend about two years at Mount Coronet's training camp."

He nodded, as we headed back into the house. "It shows, you know. The folk from Coronet tend to speak with a more... fluid manner, for lack of a better description. They hardly pause when speaking, and usually finish sentences abruptly. Am I correct?"

"Yes indeed."

"So," he said, as he watched Ben unrolling one of the carpets over the living room's floor, "how's Zachary been at Canalave? It's literally been years since we last saw him, really."

I stopped to think for a moment before answering his question. "Well... he seems happy there. Generals Fen and Maine are also there with him, and they seem to have a good time together."

"I see," the senior Harding said, as he sank himself into one of the old, squashed armchairs in the living room. "But does he take care of himself? He's a man now, capable of doing that, but sometimes we worry for him, you know?"

"Oh, he does," I smirked. "Heck, everyone at port control is always on guard whenever he's in the building, since he's just that notorious."

"That's good to hear, it is," he sighed, as he closed his eyes and leaned back in the armchair. "When he went on his training journey, it almost seemed that every other week we'd get a letter or note saying that he'd gotten into some fangled accident or another. And of course, he sometimes did crazy stuff like getting that tattoo of his, so we ended up... getting used to him being a hyperactive little shite."

I all but laughed at General Harding's father describing him as a hyperactive piece of crap. "Wait, did you say he has a _tattoo?_"

"Oh yes he does!"

"Where is it?" I asked him sceptically. "I mean, I've seen him practically from every angle in the lockers, and I haven't seen any."

"That's because it's not that big, and it's next to something much bigger," General Harding's voice came from behind me – speak of the devil. "Unless you've been ogling my goods, you probably wouldn't have seen that little tattoo of mine, heh!"

"I don't... ogle you!"

"Please, man – you definitely do. And it's nothing to be ashamed of! Hell, Fen openly gropes me in the showers sometimes."

"... I did not need nor want to know that," I muttered, covering my face with my hands.

"I could have done without knowing that either, for the record," his father said, twirling his moustache. "So, is dinner ready?"

"_Yup,"_ Ben said, from somewhere else in the house. _"Just two more minutes, and the stew's done!"_

"Well, what are you guys waiting for? Let's set the table up!"

xxx

Dinner with General Harding's family proved to be a most... boisterous affair. The sheer amount of noise they made while eating was close to being unbelievable, and for some reason, their Blackjack-playing teddy bear was also present – it was placed on a small table next to the window.

Seriously, I didn't even have to say anything. All I needed to do was to nod appreciatively and laugh, since the dirt his parents were digging out on him was really quite hilarious. It was only ten minutes into dinner, and already they'd told me about how he'd ended up being chased by an angry granbull, got electrocuted by Fen's magneton, nearly died in an accident involving exploding condoms – that one was seriously weird – and then, his brief stint in prison.

"I tell you, he ended up being locked up for the night!" laughed Mr. Harding, as he recounted the tale of how his son had attempted to steal some fruits from an orchard during his training days. "We didn't bother bailing him out, since apparently he managed to bribe the cops..."

"Well, the fruits were that good!" my boss said, his mouth full of stew. "And jeez, Dad, do you have to share all my dirty little secrets here?"

"Of course he must!" his mother said, as she nibbled on some of the steamed fish she had prepared. "It is our solemn duty to embarrass you in front of your subordinate, since you made us grow more than just a few white hairs during your training years... and do you think I might have undercooked the fish a little? It tastes funny."

"Must be Ben's fault," Mr. Harding said, wagging his finger at the psychic, who was trying his best to look innocent while he ate his share of the stew. "Did you prank Mom's food again?"

"_I did no such thing!"_

"So it's a yes," she said, sniffing her plate. "Damn it, Ben, did you put sesame oil on the fish? No wonder it tastes a little saltier than it normally does!"

"_Heck, you're good at this... alright, I did it."_

"Aha! Caught in the act!" cackled Mrs. Harding, as she slapped the tabletop. "Ben, Ben... when will you ever learn that I'm just too wily to fall for your little tricks?"

"_Maybe when age-related amnesia sets in?"_ he said brightly. _"You did sit on your reading glasses the other day."_

"That was an accident!"

"_It was not, haha! It was definitely a sign of Alzheimer's disease!"_

"Why, you little piece of delcatty shit!"

"_What the fuck kind of an insult is that supposed to be?"_

"Are they always like this?" I leaned over and whispered at General Harding, watching with wide eyes as his gardevoir and mother continued to insult each other in progressively vulgar language.

"Oh, this is fine," he said, as he bit down on a chunk of fish meat. "Mom just needs someone to argue with, otherwise she gets restless. So Ben indulges her, and my father gets to watch from the sidelines!"

Sure enough, Mr. Harding was chortling merrily as his wife exchanged verbal jabs with Ben. The teddy bear sat quietly on the window-side table all the while.

Suddenly, with a loud flapping of wings, a honchkrow flew up to the window, and pecked noisily at the glass. Everyone turned to look at it, which effectively ended the argument between Ben and Mrs. Harding.

"Oh, it's Frank!" she said, happily leaping out of her seat. "I'll just let him in now."

She went over to the window and opened it, letting the dark bird into the dining room. He bustled about and ruffled his feathers, preening himself as he held out one of his claws to Mrs. Harding – an envelope was clutched in his powerful-looking talons.

"Who sent it, Frank?" she asked him, as she petted him on his beak. "And how are the chicks?"

"Oh, they're all dandy!" he cawed, causing me to gawk at him – honchkrow were known to use telepathy to communicate, but training one to speak was quite difficult, supposedly. "That one's from the folks upstairs, by the way.

"And you folks are having dinner! Steamed fish, too!"

"Would you like some?" Mrs. Harding asked him. "I'm a tad full today, so you can have my share."

"Wouldn't mind that, but the last time you did that Ben had added a shitload of pepper to it," the honchkrow glared at Ben out of one eye. "What did he do to it this time?"

"Sesame oil, he says."

Frank cawed loudly. "Hah, you seriously think I'd trust Ben that much? I'd only trust him as far as I could throw him!"

"Using your psychic abilities, that could be quite a distance, though," pointed out Mr. Harding.

"Bah!" grumbled Frank with an air of disgust, even as Ben began laughing raucously at him. "You just had to spoil my ranting, didn't you? Anyway, I've got to get back, or the missus is going to have my feathers."

"_See you around, then,"_ Ben got up and walked over to the large bird, actually hugging him with a big, fanged smile. _"Say hi to the chicks for us, would you? Their uncle of sorts misses them quite a bit."_

"Only when you suck the peanuts out of my shit, that is," cackled the honchkrow, as he literally vanished into thin air.

For a few moments after he left and while Ben made his way back to his seat, there was silence in the dining room. Mr. Harding had happily returned to his food, whereas General Harding had been eating contentedly since he'd waved at Frank when greeting him. Mrs. Harding had left the room for a bit to keep away that envelope she'd received – wonder what it contained? – and I was staring blankly at the spot where Frank had been.

"Meowth got your tongue, son?" she asked, as she returned to the table. "Frank does tend to have that effect on others, hah!"

I shrugged, offering her a weak grin. "Well, it's not every day I see a talking honchkrow. He's yours, I presume?"

"He _was_ hers," General Harding said helpfully. "He's been living out there on his own and raising a family of murkrow up on one of the wall-cities for a few years now, though."

"Bless him, Frank visits when his chicks aren't too demanding," nodded Mrs. Harding fondly. "Sometimes he brings one or two of them with him, to visit us."

"Unlike someone who hasn't been home for a few years," said Mr. Harding playfully, as he elbowed his son in the ribs.

All I could do was laugh at the way with which my boss swatted at his father's elbow. "So he found a mate and moved out? And you let him?"

"Well, he and his mate were perfectly matched in the sense that they were both wild spirits," she replied, as she shut the window to keep the mosquitoes out. "So it was for the best, really – and like I said, he visits every now and then!"

"He's also the reason why I've got so many psychics around," smirked General Harding. "Do you know how hard it was to get away with mischief as a kid, with that damned bird around? Fucking read my mind every time I tried to tell a lie."

"Word of advice, son," guffawed Mr. Harding, "is that you should always have a psychic on hand if you're just lousy at detecting lies! And they're also good for making sure that you never forget those lovely moments in the past."

"Sweet Arceus above!" cursed General Harding, placing his face in his hands. "Cue the embarrassing stories..."

"Umm, how much more embarrassing can they get?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. 'Embarrassing' and 'Zachary Harding' generally didn't fit in the same context, since the bastard was horribly shameless.

"Very embarrassing indeed!" laughed his father, slapping a hand on the tabletop. "Like the noodle incident!"

I think that was the first time I had ever seen General Harding looking genuinely mortified.

"Well, you see-" his mother began, only to get interrupted by her son letting out a panicked squawk, grabbing hold of Ben's forearm and disappearing with his gardevoir. "Oh, I suppose it can wait – there's no fun in telling those stories until he's around, is there?"

She then scooped up some stew from the serving dish, and offered it to me. "More stew, dear? Looks like my dear Zachary's fled to parts unknown for now."

Once we had finished dinner and helped Mrs. Harding with washing the dishes, Mr. Harding offered to take me to a pub, of all places. All I could do was to stare at him, goggle-eyed, as he stretched his back and opened the front door with a wide grin.

"But we just had dinner, sir!"

"Ah, the pub's great for desserts!" he laughed. "And of course, the word 'stressed' spelled backwards is 'desserts', so it's always good to swing by the pub!"

I felt completely lost. "... And why would we be stressed now?"

"Psh, stress is just an excuse to go drinking! For now, we're heading to the pub to catch that rapscallion that I call my son!" he chuckled merrily. "And to also get you unwound a little! Goodness knows that Zachary's probably traumatized you into being an uptight ponce over at Canalave."

"Sir!" I said, aghast. "A _ponce?_"

"See, there you go again with the 'sir'! God damn it, you're supposed to be young, dumb, and full of come, but you're so... berk-like instead!"

"Oh, gods," I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut and pinching the bridge of my nose. "Now I'm being compared to the female genitalia?"

"Shut it and come along, then!"

"... Fine."

xxx

As it turned out, the pub Mr. Harding was talking about wasn't more than a five-minute walk away from the Harding family home. Why my boss had decided to flee there of all places was beyond me, but apparently, it was his favourite pub in Sootopolis. And of course, his mother had insisted that we dump his unfinished dinner into a Tupperware container and bring it along with us, to be force-fed to him if need be.

So it seemed Mrs. Harding was very firm on her no-wastage policy.

"This is it?" I asked Mr. Harding, giving the pub's facade a quick once-over. "It looks... scary."

Mr. Harding laughed, and slapped me on the back with enough force to make my ribcage sing. "Why of course it looks scary! Wouldn't be a good pub if it didn't, now, would it? Anyway, we've got to get inside and catch that rascal son on mine!"

"... Just how many nicknames do you have for him, sir?" I asked him as he stepped forward and threw the door open, letting a wave of noise explode out onto the quiet street like an exploud farting. "Like 'rapscallion', 'rascal', and so on."

He probably didn't hear me, since he walked right into the pub through the open door. Wincing a little as the pub's deejay cranked up the volume and blasted yet more noise out at me, I said a little prayer for the survival of my eardrums, and headed into the watering hole.

Gods be damned, _clubs_ were supposed to be noisy, not pubs!

As I entered the pub, the first thing I noticed was that the place was rather well-lit. Compared to the joints back at Canalave, this pub was lighted with the same type of bulbs they used in the archives department, which gave it a dim, yet comfortable light level. Music was booming from two coffin-sized speakers near one of the side walls, and the bar was located at the back.

Given the pub's small size, it didn't exactly take long for me to spot my wayward boss and his father. All I had to do was to look for the crowd placing bets on a table.

General Harding was holding up a shot glass and smirking at the lucario seated opposite him at a small table, while said fighter glared at him. Both of them showed obvious signs of intoxication, and the lucario's ears were twitching about frequently – a sure sign that it was coming close to being blasted out of its skull by means of ethanol. On the other hand, my boss seemed to be going strong despite his flushed cheeks and shaking hand.

"Still want to go, eh?" he drawled, eliciting several whistles and cheers from the betting folk. "Cheers, then!"

He knocked back the shot, causing some of the gamblers to clap heartily; I really wasn't that surprised to see his father among them.

I moved up to Mr. Harding's side, and nudged him in the ribs. "Mr. Harding, is he trying to out-drink that lucario?"

"Obviously, m'boy!" he replied happily. "And it looks like he's winning, too!"

"Damn, I knew he had an iron gut, but this is ridiculous!" I said, watching with wide eyes as the lucario swallowed its next shot and dropped the shot glass. "Does he know how hard it is to get a steel-type drunk?"

"Oh, Zachary knows what he's doing, alright," his father laughed. "Just wait till the lucario collapses, and you'll see what I mean."

"Sweet Arceus," I muttered, watching as my boss took down two consecutive shots and offered the lucario a wink. "By the way... where's Ben?"

"_Someone called out my name?"_ Ben said from right behind me, very nearly causing me to jump out of my skin. _"Oh, it's just you."_

"Blast it, Ben!" I snapped, turning around and swatting him on his shoulder. "Did you really have to do that?"

He smirked, and leaned forward until our faces were just inches apart. _"Definitely, my dear. When I see a male as delicious as you... I really can't help myself, frankly."_

"You are a horny bastard," I retorted, slowly pushing him back. "And no, I'm not sleeping with you."

"_Aww, you're no fun!"_ he sighed, bringing his hand to his forehead and pretending to swoon. _"But I suppose that medicham was enough for one night."_

I made a face and turned about to look at my drunkard of a boss instead of his lecher of a gardevoir. "I really didn't need to know that, Ben. So I'll just watch your trainer get stoned instead, alright?"

"_Oh, he'll win," _Ben said dismissively.

The lucario picked up a freshly-filled shot glass, and held it up to the light, almost looking as if it was toasting someone. It shakily brought the glass to its pointed snout, and tipped the alcohol into its mouth. With a triumphant growl, it slammed the glass into the table, and resumed its glaring at General Harding.

He didn't seem fazed, though. All he did was raise an eyebrow at the lucario, before offering it a jaunty salute. Then, he picked up the bottle of vodka that was on the table in front of him, and proceeded to drink straight from it, causing a few cheers to break out among his audience.

As he chugged down the vodka, I could practically see smoke coming out of the lucario's ears. It began swaying in its seat, and drunkenly tried to grab its own bottle of vodka. However, it missed the target completely, and fell off its chair sideways, crashing to the floor in a heap.

General Harding promptly got up, and slammed his vodka bottle down on the table. He then walked over to the lucario, and squatted down next to it. "Good try, matey."

"Oh, fuck you, Harding," growled the jackal-like pokemon from where it lay on the floor, massaging its temples. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to sleep."

"Holy shit!" I gaped at the downed lucario, and then at his victorious opponent. "That lucario talked!"

General Harding turned to grin at me, and said, "Well, obviously there's a brain in there since he could get intoxicated now, no?

"I heard that, you bastard child!" was the drowsy retort from the floor.

"Zachary, thanks for the fifty dollars!" boomed his father, as he appeared at his son's side and thumped him on the back, sending him flying forward into a trio of giggling women. "Oh, and your mother wants you to finish your dinner."

"_This was for him?"_ Ben's voice asked from behind us, causing us to turn as one to look in his direction. Sure enough, he was holding the Tupperware in one hand, and a spoon in the other. _"Oops."_

His trainer merely smirked and waved at him. "So it looks like I had a liquid dinner, and Ben got the other states of matter, then!"

"You, sir, are incorrigible!" I said, shaking my head, causing his father to start laughing again.

"I try," he smirked, as he staggered over to the counter. "Oi, barkeep! A screwdriver for my buddy here, and make sure it stings!"

"_Sir!"_

xxx

By the time we finally got out of the pub, it was half past two in the morning, Ben had disappeared along with the bartender's medicham again, and I had somehow decided to strip in the pub somewhere near one. Fortunately, Mr. Harding had managed to persuade me to keep my pants on. In all seriousness, don't drink when around people like General Harding who are incredibly good at abusing the power of suggestion and intoxication.

Well, at least that lady who kissed me when I was topless was cute. Even though you know, she was a lady.

Since Ben was off having fun, we had to walk back to the Harding family home, which wasn't really a bad thing, really. What made it all good was the fact that Sootopolis was actually quite pretty at night, and so the walk back was worth it.

The streets were only sparsely lit, since the frequent flooding shortened their lifespan considerably. Walking down the shadowy streets felt oddly comforting, almost as if I'd returned to Sootopolis after several years spent away from it. Most of the houses had their lights off due to the time of day, but those whose inhabitants were awake tended to be the venues for various sorts of card games and conversations, it seemed.

We may have been walking inside the cone of a dormant, water-filled volcano, but somehow, insects were singing somewhere in the darkness. Blended in with the sound of the waves were the distinctive strains of nincada and kricketune, forming a unique symphony that was beautiful beyond anything I'd ever heard before.

Even the digimon troops didn't seem to be fussed about people violating curfew in Sootopolis – those that we passed merely waved at us, and carried on with whatever it was they were up to. Several water pokemon were with them, and those seemed content in watching the water itself rather than the streets they were supposed to patrol.

Although, I suppose it was really the lack of security cameras on the streets due to the frequent floods made it possible for them to be lax in their patrol duties. Aside from all that, though, there were the wall-cities. And believe me, they were lovely.

Of course, the deserted parts of the wall-cities were completely dark. However, the inhabited portions of the suspended constructs were all lit-up like Christmas lights, bright little pinpricks of light amidst the black background of the volcano itself. The bulk of Sootopolis' population may have been asleep, but the lights of industry continued to shine in the wall-cities. And as if that wasn't impressive enough, the water surrounding the Origin Cluster's entrance had a peculiar glow to it, which General Harding told me was due to undersea mining operations being carried out.

Sootopolis may have been a big city, but somehow, it felt like a small town as I walked through its streets with my commanding officer and his father.

"Is it always this... homey here, sir?" I asked General Harding, as we ascended the steps that connected his home's front door to the street beneath it. "Everything seems so quiet and... content."

He let his father into the house, and paused for a moment as he considered my question. A few seconds and a glance at his surroundings later, he finally answered my question with another question.

"Ever heard that old song? The one with something about the Beatles and John F. Kennedy in it?" he asked me, as he pulled off his shirt headed to his room. "Well, there's your answer."

It took me a while to place the song, but when I finally did, I realized just why he'd used it to make his point. "Is that 'Life in a Northern Town'?"

"We're southeast here, but yes, that's the one."

I only fell asleep half an hour after that. General Harding was already asleep by then, and was muttering all sorts of gibberish as he slept. So when I slipped into sleep, it was to the rhythmic sounds of the waves and my boss talking nonsense in his sleep. Despite the unusual lullaby, I slept well.

Had I known what the next day had in store for me, perhaps I wouldn't have slept at all.


	26. Complications

**Chapter 25 – Complications**

"Silas, where are you?" I called out as I stuck my very aching head – courtesy of drinking just a couple of hours ago - into the kitchen. "Oh! Good morning, Mrs. Harding."

"Ah, you're an early bird!" she replied, as she buttered a slice of toast. "And what's this about Silas?"

I frowned. "He was in the room when I fell asleep last night, but now he's missing! And shellder can't exactly walk around, can they?"

"Hmm, that they can't," Mrs. Harding nodded. "Toast, dear? You look a little thin."

"No thanks, ma'am – I'll be going to look for Silas now," I said, shaking my head.

She sighed, "Once you find him, do grab some breakfast, then! You young people are absolutely horrible when it comes to eating breakfast, you know..."

After quickly assuring her that I would indeed have something for breakfast once I had found my missing starter, I headed into the living room, where I found General Harding watching the six a.m. news bulletin. He was slumped in one of the misshapen, ancient sofas along the living room wall, and blinked like a noctowl when he saw me.

A quick once-over told me all I needed to know; there were bags under his eyes and his hair was all over the place. Sure signs of him being hung-over if there ever were any.

"Having my mother as an early riser is bad enough, but you, too?" he groaned. "What is it with you people and waking up early?"

"My head hurts," I sighed, as I sank down into the unoccupied sofa set. "So, what's on the news?"

He snorted, and waved at the television set. "They're making the announcement for the first batches of new trainers. Apparently, starters will be assigned at the military bases of the selected cities and towns. So guess who'll have extra work to do when we get back to Canalave?"

"Gods be damned," I muttered. "We'll be the ones screening them, I take it?"

"Bingo and a hole-in-one," he answered with a grunt. "And my head isn't any better than yours, kiddo... it feels like a fucking snorlax is having explosive diarrhoea in my there."

We sat there in relative silence for a few moments, watching the groggy-looking newscaster read out the names of the cities and townships that had been selected as starting points for the newly-restarted pokemon league. Supposedly, there would be twenty gyms per region now, so that all seventeen types would be represented, and the remainder three would have the option of reusing a type or running mixed species.

Just why the government was broadcasting all that at slightly past six in the morning was beyond me. Maybe they were trying to get people to listen to the news before leaving for work or something.

Out of nowhere, General Harding got up, shut the television off, and stalked across the living room. Throwing open the window that faced the main road, he let out a sort of animalistic cry before sticking his entire upper torso out of the window.

"ARGH... MY FUCKING HEAD!" he half-shouted, half-moaned, even as he let loose with a terrific flatulent blast that very nearly sent me reeling. "MY HOLY FUCKING HELL!"

I coughed feebly, even as I waved my hands about to try and dispel the fart's lingering smell. "Sir, what the- how the- why did you fart at me? And did you just use 'holy' and 'fucking' next to each other in the same sentence?"

"It's all in the mind... All in the _fucking_ mind!" he rasped, as he swayed drunkenly and made his way back to the sofa. With a loud grunt, he crashed into the sagging chair, causing it to become even more scruffy-looking. "Oh, my fucking gods..."

"... I'm pretty sure that language is blasphemous to the extreme."

"Blasphemy my sweaty, hairy, dick... Say, where's Ben, anyway? Was he in the kitchen when you went there?" General Harding said, tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Ben? I didn't see him..." I replied, my voice trailing off as I realized something. "Sweet Arceus, he took Silas!"

"Say what say when say how?" mumbled my boss, squinting in the window's general direction. "Why is the window open again?"

I got up from the sofa, felt unsteady on my feet for a bit, and finally regained my bearings. "Silas is missing, and so is Ben. I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Go and find them, then. Meanwhile, I've got some sleeping to do."

With that, he stretched out on the sofa and hugged one of the ratty-looking cushions. It didn't take more than a few seconds for the soft sound of snoring to fill the air, which surprised me – I hadn't thought he was that busted by last night's drinking binge.

Shaking my head a little to clear things up – why, the floor seemed to be moving of its own accord – I slowly made my way to the living room window, and took a look out at the road. A divermon was walking by, harpoon propped up on a shoulder, whistling as it made its way down the street.

The street itself was only barely visible, since the walls of Sootopolis blocked the sun from illuminating the city until about noon. But the light from the living room spilled out of the window and onto the street, making the area slightly more than a mass of shadows.

And then I saw Ben.

The gardevoir in question was hovering somewhere near the neighbor's house, and was waving about at something. He continued to do so for several moments, before settling back down onto the ground and walking up to the house and knocking on the front door.

"Oi, Ben!" I called out to him. "What are you doing?"

He whipped about, and for a brief moment, his eyes glowed red in the darkness. _"Oh, it's you. Up early, I see."_

"Never mind that – what are you up to, Ben? I've got a feeling it isn't anything good."

The two reddish spots that were his eyes flickered several times as he blinked and replied in a voice that was too clueless to be genuine. _"I'm just going to say good morning to the neighbours. It's called being neighbourly, you know."_

I let out a snort of laughter at that. "You, neighbourly? I'm coming over to see just what's going on... and I've got a feeling Silas is involved, somehow."

"_You don't have to do that!"_ Ben's telepathic voice said hurriedly as I headed over to the house's main door, and unbolted it – yes, it was only secured with a single bolt. _"Nothing going on here, you doofus!"_

"For a psychic, Ben, you really are dense about lying to people," I said, as I descended the stairs leading down to the road. "Now, where's Silas, and who do I have to apologize to?"

Right at that moment, as if the universe had decided to make things happen using my words as karmic cues of some sort, the window of the house that Ben had been trying to enter exploded outwards in a noisy shower of glass.

"_My goodness..."_ he said, whipping about to survey the destruction with a wide-eyed, slack-jawed look. _"Silas really blew that one, didn't he?"_

"What did you teach him how to do?" I groaned, cradling my head in my hands. "Explosion?"

"_I'm worried about just where he is now, sweetie,"_ Ben waved a claw at me dismissively, even as the shards of glass from the window flew up in a massive, tinkling cloud and reassembled themselves into a flat, pane-like form.

A snap of his claws sent a Will-O-Wisp at the glassy mass, the minute fireballs seemingly glancing off the surface of the glass in mid-air. With that, the reformed window pane floated over back to the frame, and slotted itself back in.

"As awesome as that was, I'm still going to hate you for teaching him whatever that was. Just why are you worried about where-" I stopped talking abruptly as I finally realized what Ben was hinting at. "Oh, fucking hell – you didn't!"

"_I did, darling,"_ he chirped happily, as he stalked off down the dark street. _"And he's right this way, so if you'll just follow me, we'll see where he landed."_

"You fucking moron!" I snapped. "What in the seven circles of Hell possessed you when you taught Silas how to _teleport?_"

General Harding's bastardized nuisance of a gardevoir shrugged. _"Hey, he asked politely. And he's... oh. Perhaps you might want to call out to him."_

"Silas?" I said, raising my voice a little. "Where are you?"

"_I'm here, Trainer!"_ was Silas' reply, sounding somewhat distant yet near at the same time. _"Might need Ben to give me some instructions, though... I'm stuck."_

"Just where are you, you crazy idiot? Are you halfway stuck in a wall or something?" I asked, as I headed towards the sound of his voice. "And why the heck did you ask for teleportation lessons at the ass crack of dawn..."

"_I'm on a roof, and some shingles are holding me in place!"_ Silas declared happily. _"So I'm not quite sure how I'm to teleport out without taking the shingles with me!"_

Smacking myself in the forehead as the image of Silas wrecking someone's roof came to mind, I sighed. "Ben, could you teleport me up there? Looks like I'll need to pry him out."

"_You two are too cute,"_ Ben smirked, flashing his fangs at me, mere seconds before I was tossed up into the air like a ragdoll. _"Land carefully, dear!"_

"MOTHER-" was all I got out before I crashed down onto some random house's roof, causing a few of the shingles to crack and slide off. "Ben, you fucking prick!"

"_Shut up and retrieve your shellder. Wouldn't want the homeowners to wake up and see a man on their roof in only his cargo pants, now, would we?"_

Muttering a whole string of curses under my breath, I picked myself up with a wince, and stood up on the roof. Before I could even glance around, a jet of ice-cold water blasted me in the back.

"_Trainer, you came for me!"_ said Silas, amidst laughs. _"You really are a crazy one, yes you are!"_

"Shut up, Silas!" I grumbled, as I made my way over to him. Somehow, he'd teleported between two rows of shingles. "I'm just going to yank you out now, alright?"

It didn't take long to pull out from between the shingles – thank goodness he hadn't teleported into the shingles and gotten them merged into parts of his body. However, some loud thumping sounds started up somewhere beneath our feet, causing his eyes to go wide.

"_That'll be the house's owners, methinks!"_ he whispered. _"No time to lose, Trainer, so hold on!"_

"Let Ben do it-" I started, only to feel the rooftop beneath my feet start to swirl about. "Silas, no!"

With that, he teleported us off the roof.

xxx

By the time I got back to the Harding family home, the three of them and Ben were waiting in the living room, watching some morning cartoons while eating breakfast. Mrs. Harding stared at me as I walked into the house with seaweed still stuck in my hair, whereas her husband merely broke out into a round of really loud guffawing. Their horrible, horrible son took one look at me, and offered Ben a high five.

"Good one, Ben!" he laughed. "So, just where did Silas take you? I heard his targeting skills are still a little shaky."

"We took a trip into a fisherman's net," I replied waspishly. "Thank goodness it was already on land, though. I might've drowned, otherwise."

Ben shook his head, giggling uncontrollably. _"Nah, Silas would've saved you. For all the hatred you two have between you, he still looks up to you, I think."_

"_Bullshit,"_ scoffed my starter, blowing a raspberry at Ben. _"I'd have let him drown, I'll have you know!"_

_"That's what she said,"_ sang Ben, as he sat bolt upright. _"Oh, watch out, Jerry!"_

On the television screen, Tom the cat nearly got beheaded as Jerry the mouse slammed a window shut on his neck. Several feet away on the sofa, perched precariously on Mrs. Harding's knee, the Harding family's teddy bear shook violently and nearly fell to the floor as the three of them broke out into a laughing fit.

"You are most definitely an interesting family..." I said weakly, as I headed to the bathroom. "I'll just... leave you to your Tom and Jerry, then."

"Don't throw that seaweed away, son!" Mr. Harding said, as I made my way to get cleaned up. "Ben does love to nibble on fresh seaweed, for some odd reason or another."

For the love of all that was remotely holy, didn't these people do anything normally?

... But then again, General Harding had to have gotten all his insanity from somebody.

xxx

That night, after dinner and several dramatic recounts of Silas' adventures in teleportation lessons, General Harding told me that we were going on a little trip. It wasn't something entirely unexpected given his history of stalking the streets of Canalave at night, but something just didn't feel right about the whole thing.

"Just where are we going, sir?" I asked him as we made our way to the small submarine pier that was nestled among the fishing docks. "Is this on official business?"

"Not really," he said, as he practically pranced down the street. "But then again, yes to an extent!"

"Sir, you aren't making any sense whatsoever."

"Just shut up and follow me!"

It didn't take us long to get to the submarine pier, where three compact submarines were docked. They were all built for a crew of four at most, and couldn't travel more than two hundred miles in a single trip. From what I knew about them, though, the compact submarines were highly resistant to damage, and could even withstand a sharpedo ramming into them head-on at full speed.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" said General Harding brightly as he sprang up to the control booth, containing a cadaverous-looking pier operator and his two bodyguards – a one-eyed divermon and a muscular old poliwrath. "I'm going to need to borrow one of the compact subs for a bit!"

"General Harding, we don't usually let officers take them out just like that," the man behind the bulletproof glass deadpanned. "May I inquire as to why you need a submarine at this time of day?"

My boss leaned against the glass, and rapped his knuckles on the counter-top. "We're going to inspect the mining bases. Surprise them a little, you know? See, I'm not just back here on vacation."

The operator raised an eyebrow, and pressed several keys on a pad built into the surface of his workstation. "I'll have to confirm this with the chain of command, then."

"Go ahead and confirm it all you want," huffed General Harding. "But it's all a mighty waste of time, I tell you. Sootopolis is one of the most secure locations on Earth!"

"I'm sure of that, sir. Now please hold on while I get port control on the line."

We stood there for a while, the pier being quiet save for the sound of waves lapping against its support pylons. The pier operator's two guards had stepped out from the control booth through a side door and were now eyeballing us, with the divermon leaning against its harpoon casually and the poliwrath cracking its massive knuckles.

"I see," said the operator suddenly, even though no one had said anything to him. "Alright, then – I'll clear them for the night."

"Told you so, didn't I?" General Harding smiled sweetly at the man as he opened a safe built into the booth's wall. "Now, which sub are we getting?"

"I'll be entrusting the third submarine for you, sir," answered the operator blandly as he passed General Harding a set of keys. "Do try not to get it damaged if possible; we just had them repainted recently."

As the two of us made our way towards the gangway to the submarines, I nudged General Harding in the shoulder. "How does he do that?"

"Do what?" he asked me blankly. "He's the pier operator, so of course he's able to clear us to use the submarines."

I rolled my eyes. "He didn't even talk to anyone, and he got clearance from port control? How's that possible?"

"Oh, that," my boss snapped his fingers. "Well, he's got cochlear implants similar to yours, but his receive transmitted signals or something like that without translation abilities... or whatever. Here we are!"

The small, snub-nosed submarine bobbed about in the water not three feet away from us. General Harding used one of the keys the operator had given to him to unlock some kind of panel on the pier itself, and a narrow gangplank slowly extended out of the pier towards the submarine. He walked down the gangplank, and somehow made the submarine's hatch open up.

"Hop in, kid!"

With a strange, sinking feeling in my gut, I stepped into the submarine's cramped interior, followed by General Harding. The insides of the submarine were all painted white, and its controls were all labelled with the same, cramped black printing. Four transparisteel viewports made up the front of the submarine, providing us with a perfectly hemispherical view of the world outside the submersible.

He fired up the controls within several minutes, while I ran some checks on the submarine's critical functions. Fuel supplies, oxygen tanks, ballast, emergency weapons systems, external illumination, and all internal systems checked out fine, and so we sealed the hatch, and started up the submarine's engines.

"Want to drive, rookie?" General Harding asked me with a smirk. "This part of the trip's simple enough for you to do it, but later on, I'll take over once we're at the mining facilities."

"It's been a while since I handled one of these..." I fidgeted a little in my seat, feeling the crash webbing digging into my ribs a little. "But you can take over if anything goes wrong, right?"

"Yup, got the main piloting controls here," he tapped the control console before him. "Yours are secondary controls, so take her out, my good man!"

Swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat, I revved the submarine's engines a little, and put its propeller in gear. I eased the clutch pedal out a little – I couldn't recall why they modelled the submarine's controls after those of a manual transmission car – and sure enough, the submarine glided forward slowly. All it took was some gentle pressure on the accelerator for the submarine to pick up speed, and we were off into the dark waters.

"Good starting, kid," General Harding nodded approvingly from his seat at the primary control console. "You can start taking her down under now."

"Got it, sir," I replied as I flipped the switches that opened the ballast tanks and slanted the submarine's lateral fins downwards. Sure enough, we began descending into the depths at a steady rate as the ballast tanks filled up and the lateral fins angled our nose down.

After some time spent cruising through the darkness of the ocean's depths along the bearings he'd provided me with, he finally spoke up. "I'm starting external illumination. We should be approaching the mining facilities soon."

Several switches were flicked and dials turned, resulting in the black waters around us being lit up by powerful halogen lamps mounted on the submarine's hull. Various water pokemon began swimming right up next to us, drawn by the light, even as General Harding called for me to take us down deeper, to the point that we were practically skimming along the bottom of the seabed.

"The GPS says we're drawing up to the trench... right about now," he said, looking at the tiny monitor on his control console.

As if on cue, the ground beneath us gave way into nothingness. The massive ocean trench was like a colossal mouth, lined with jagged rocks that resembled gigantic teeth. Down in the trench, at the edges of visibility, were several clusters of glassy-looking domes connected by what looked like wide pipes – we had located the deep-sea mining facilities.

"Take us down to that dome there," General Harding directed me, pointing to a dome whose external lights had suddenly flickered on, followed by a line of undersea lights that seemed to trace a path between us and them. "Just follow those docking lights, and take us in slowly."

Our approach to the dome was only made eventful by several curious cradily that probed at our hull with their tentacles as we passed over them. They were all clustered about the docking lights for some reason, and seemed to have a skin that was colored a murky grey as opposed to their usual shade of green.

"What's with the cradily, sir?" I asked my boss as we pulled up to a sizeable blast door that had slid open along the side of the dome. "Are they sick, or something?"

He shook his head, as we passed through the opening and entered the dome. "Nah, they're just adapted to their barnacle nature as opposed to their grass nature – like gastrodon, remember?"

I nodded and murmured in affirmation as I recalled the obscure mechanisms that defined a gastrodon's skin color. If I remembered my lessons correctly, gastrodon who thrived in salt water tended to have blue skin, whereas those that lived in fresh water had pinkish skin.

"So these cradily don't photosynthesize? Then why are they all clustered near the lights?" I asked as I brought the submarine to a stop in a cage-like structure that was actually a sort of submarine parking lot. "I mean, they'd have stronger suction cups and longer tentacles, but wouldn't being adapted to perpetual immersion make them independent of light?"

"I can't recall all the details, kid, but apparently they do need some light periodically," General Harding said, as the cage clamped onto us and the chamber began emptying itself of water. "Probably they can't eliminate their grass nature completely, or something. Ask Gary when we get back – I'm sure he knows the answer."

A rapping sound came from somewhere on the hull, making us both jump a little. We looked out of the viewports, and saw three men in overalls standing next to the submarine, looking quite haggard.

"And it looks like we have a welcoming committee," remarked my commanding officer, as he unbuckled his crash webbing. "Come on, kiddo – let's not make this last any longer than it has to."

With that, we got out of the submarine, and went up to the miners, who weren't looking too happy about the surprise inspection.

"Why do you people do this?" asked the oldest of the three miners, looking supremely grumpy. "We're all busy down here, and we don't exactly have time to deal with you folks from the surface."

"Just sign the forms, and I'll be off," said General Harding, rolling his eyes at the old miner. "I trust everything's all right?"

The miner stared at him. "You aren't going to check anything before we sign off on this?"

"Look," General Harding sighed, "I don't like these inspections any more than you do, and I have faith in your competence. If there's really anything wrong, you wouldn't even have let me in, would you now?"

One of the two other miners chuckled. "Smart man, this one is. Just sign off and let him go, boss."

"I must say, this is unexpected," commented the old miner as he began signing the inspection forms. "But anyway, thanks for trusting us on our work. You want a cup of coffee or something before you leave?"

"Nah, I'm sure you guys are tight on supplies. So, sorry to disturb you, and goodbye," said General Harding as he turned and hopped back into the submarine. "Come along, rookie!"

"Keep an eye on your boss, boy!" said the old miner as I got into the submarine. "Be more like him and you'll go far, mark my words!"

I laughed at the thought of being more like General Harding – the very idea of it was ridiculous. "I'll keep that in mind, mister."

"Hurry up, kid!" urged General Harding as the submarine hatch sealed itself and the three miners left the docking chamber. "We've got one more stop to make, and I'm not the fastest submarine pilot out there... so move it!"

"Where are we going?" I asked him, as he reversed the submarine out of the docking dome and began emptying out the ballast tanks. "Aren't we going back now that the inspection's done?"

He smiled, but I didn't miss the brief shadow that fell over his expression. "Oh, we've got a stop to make then we'll go back. Just another inspection of sorts, you'll see."

The submarine stopped losing depth as he closed the ballast tanks, and began plotting a new course to some coordinates that he apparently knew by heart. We passed through surprisingly empty waters, and eventually came to a dead end – a wall of rock rose up before us, indicating that we'd come up against Sootopolis itself.

I opened my mouth to say something, but ended up remaining silent as he brought the submarine into a cave whose entrance had been concealed by a massive rocky outcropping. We passed through a spacious, submerged cavern, and eventually emerged into a massive chamber whose walls were beyond our lights' reach.

"We'll go ashore here, and then wrap up our business for tonight," General Harding said, as he raised us up to the water's surface. "Follow me closely, you hear? Got lots of slippery stepping stones to navigate on the way to where we're going."

More confused than ever, I nodded mutely and followed him out of the submarine. As he'd said, there were plenty of stepping stones dotting the surface around the submarine – just how he'd managed to bring it up right between the masses of rocks was beyond me. I nearly slipped several times, but managed to avoid falling into the eerily placid waters. Above us was the open sky, but around us were towering cliffs that seemed to be part of the more treacherous portions of Sootopolis' exterior.

We walked along the stones, eventually reaching a sandy stretch of land that wound, snake-like, through the rocky walls. Every so often, we would come to a crossroads, but General Harding seemed to know where he was going. It didn't take long for me to get completely lost, and I hurried to keep up with him as he scurried through the labyrinth of rocks and sand.

After what seemed like hours, we finally left the rocky maze, and made it out onto a rocky shore overlooking a large lagoon. However, it wasn't the large, cliff-enclosed lagoon that immediately caught my attention.

It was all the milotic.

They seemed to be there by the dozen, both on the land and in the water. Some were swimming about in the moonlit water, whereas others were coiled up on land or on the rocky ledges near the water. Little groups of feebas could be seen flocking about some of the larger milotic, particularly near the edges of the lagoon.

"Wow," I exhaled, unable to articulate a full sentence out of sheer wonder. Milotic were incredibly rare in the wild, and here we were, looking at an entire nest of them!

"Beautiful, aren't they?" General Harding grinned at me. "Only we locals know about this place, and only we can find it. If you tried climbing over the cliffs, you'd be killed by wild pokemon, and the waters outside the lagoon are too hazardous for travel."

"They're... so peaceful," I said, still awestruck by the sight before my eyes. As I stepped towards the edge of the lagoon, one of the milotic that had been coiled on the shore reared up and blinked its long-lashed eyes at me.

"Be careful, they can hypnotize people, you know," warned my boss, even as I approached the serpentine pokemon and reached out to touch it.

Just as I was about to lay my hand on its hair, though, the milotic let out a shrill cry, and rapidly slithered off into the water. Puzzled, I looked around, and saw that almost all of them were now looking at me. Some were rushing into the water, some were herding the schools of feebas towards deeper waters, and the rest were coiling into what looked like striking positions.

"What-" I began, only to be interrupted by the distinctive sound of a pokemon being let out of a pokeball. I froze for a moment, and slowly turned around to face what I was sure to be the source of the milotics' sudden panic.

General Harding stood several feet away from me, Adrienne standing next to him. He had drawn his sidearm, and had drawn a bead on me with it. As I watched, he flicked the safety off, and fixed a steely-eyed glare at me.

"Sir, why-" I said, right before all my muscles went numb, causing me to fall to the ground in a boneless heap. Unspoken words echoed loudly in my head as my mind went berserk trying to figure out what was going on.

Adrienne stepped up to me, eyes glowing, and I realized that my sudden paralysis was due to her actions. Meanwhile, her trainer leisurely ambled up to my side, and waved his pistol in my direction.

"Now, rookie, we're going to have some truths," he drawled. "Specifically, the reasons why you tried to have me arrested for murder."


	27. Confrontation

**Chapter 26 – Confrontation**

I just about had a heart attack when my brain processed General Harding's words. It didn't take Adrienne a second to levitate my limp form and spin me about to face him. The expression on his face was a forced, cheerful one, but his eyes glimmered with the suggestion of something darker as he came closer to me.

"So, rookie, you thought you could have me hauled up to the docks for murder!" he said, sounding unnaturally chirpy as he brandished a pistol in my face. "This isn't a very nice thing to do, especially not to your boss, really. What have you to say for yourself, then?"

Even if I had not been paralysed by Adrienne and forced by her to imitate a boneless chicken – the paralysis also forcing me into remaining silent – I don't think I would have been able to provide him with a good response. Half of my mind was screaming at me for following him on the night 'mission' to inspect the deep-sea mines, and the other half was all but frothing at the mouth wondering how he'd found out about my little conspiracy against him.

"Well, answer me, you little assoholic fucktard!"

_"Umm, my bad – I'll need to release his jaw first,"_ Adrienne said, at least having the grace to sound sheepish.

General Harding rolled his eyes, and sighed, "Sweet Arceus, Adrienne. I could have shot him, you know! Let the man speak for himself, will you?

"Women," he smirked, shaking his head. "Always trying to make us guys shut up, eh? Even the psychics, by golly – you'd think that they'd see our side of the coin!"

My jaw suddenly dropped, feeling rubbery. It was almost as if someone had gripped the sides of my face tightly, and let go just like that. I reflexively shut my mouth, and felt my jaw muscles tensing. Adrienne sure had done a number on them, it seemed.

"Let's have at it, now, shall we?" my boss asked me sweetly, tapping me forehead with the barrel of his pistol.

I was still at a loss for words, but managed to scrape a reply out for him. "It was your fault!"

He reared back, his face an exaggerated mask of horror. "Say what?"

Faster than thought, his left hand shot forward and decked me across the face. The blow made me see stars for a moment, and a ringing sound started echoing in my head. I let out a grunt, but that was all I could do before he grabbed me by the collar and yanked me closer to him, until our faces couldn't have been more than six inches apart.

"My fault, you say?" he snarled, looking positively maniacal. "I have it on good authority that you did it at least partially because you wanted my job. And what about conspiring with Silas to question the pokemon down in the vaults, eh?"

I did my best to suppress the tremor in my voice, even as I began worrying not just for my safety, but Silas'. "He has nothing to do with this."

"Oh, but he does," hissed General Harding. "You see, back when you had your little episode with the prophecy, Adrienne took a peek into your head to get a copy of it. And guess what she found along the way?"

"Damn," I cursed aloud, as I realized that there wouldn't be any talking my way out of this one; he knew the truth. "So, you're just going to kill me here?"

"I could do that," he said in a thoughtful tone, suddenly stepping back and turning away from me. "But you see, that would raise too many questions. The port operator saw me going out with you, as did his poliwrath and that divermon. Too many witnesses, you see."

"You'd just wipe their memories with Adrienne or Ben, then," I retorted. A thought struck me just then. "Just like what you had her do to me, apparently."

He mulled over my words for a few seconds, before slowly nodding his head. "Ah, I get your drift. That's some very nice deduction there, rookie. Good to see that your devious little brain's still at work in there.

"I'm so tempted to kill you, really. And just like any villain in a kid's cartoon, I'll be telling you my evil plan before I do so," he said, before letting loose with a manic cackle that caused the milotic in the lagoon to let out shrill cries of distress. "But of course, you're going to end this whole shebang as clueless as you were when you started it."

"And just what do you mean by that?" I asked, feeling the beginnings of panic once again.

"Oh, I'll kill you, that much is for sure," he snorted, shaking his head. "But I'm just wondering if the gunshot would be audible from the nearest inhabited area. Or if the milotic might squeal on me.

"You know what, kid? Fuck this shit – Adrienne, could you be a dear and slowly start squeezing his brainstem for me?"

My eyes must have as wide as saucers when I heard that. Everything seemed to slow down as I flicked my gaze towards Adrienne, who was looking at me strangely. Somehow, her normally blank face managed to convey an air of something other than apathy – for a moment there, I almost got the impression that she was obeying this one request from her trainer with some reluctance.

Ever heard of the five stages of death and dying? Or was it the five stages of grief? Regardless of who those five stages were intended for, be they the dying, the dead, or the grieving, I'm pretty sure that I was forced right to the fifth one during that moment. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression... well, it wasn't like I had any time for those, did I? Somehow, an eerie sort of acceptance took root in my mind, and I could only contemplate my impending death with an unnatural feeling of calm.

A strange sensation started working its way over my body, feeling almost as if a light static shock was travelling through me. Adrienne must have relinquished control over my eyelids, because it didn't take much effort to close them and brace myself for my approaching death. Brainstem compression sounded painless - or at least I hoped it was.

There was a brief, feathery sensation on the back of my neck, and I felt my entire body seizing up as if it had been encased in quick-hardening epoxy. The pressure then ceased, and I dropped to the ground in a heap.

Before I even had time to wonder if death was really that anticlimactic, General Harding's confused voice broke the silence.

"Adrienne, what are you doing?"

I wasn't dead?

"Adrienne? He's still breathing – I can see his chest moving!"

Apparently, I wasn't dead yet.

"Oops, my bad. Could you make it an aneurysm instead? Good thing you caught it, heh!" General Harding chuckled. "Jeez, I'm slipping up, forgetting that brainstem compression was just a little too conspicuous..."

The night was silent once again, as I waited for Adrienne to finish what she'd started. Strangely enough, nothing happened.

"Adrienne-" General Harding started speaking, only to be silenced abruptly.

I just lay there, not daring to open my eyes. All that I could hear was the sound of waves lapping gently against the edge of the lagoon, and after a while, I began to wonder just what had happened.

"_It's alright,"_ a voice spoke up in my mind. _"You can open your eyes now."_

I knew that voice... it sounded familiar, yet was alien to me. I'd have remembered the owner of such a depressed-sounding voice for sure.

When I opened my eyes, I saw none other than Ben the gardevoir standing over me, looking uncharacteristically forlorn.

"Ben?" I blinked. "What happened?"

Ben sighed, and sat down on the sand next to me. _"By the looks and sounds of it, my trainer was going to have Adrienne kill you. Luckily I got here in time."_

I sat up, and looked around. Both General Harding and Adrienne were frozen in their places, looking just like a pair of statues with shocked expressions on their faces.

"Why did you come here, Ben?" I asked him, as he scooted over closer to me, and started tracing a random pattern in the sand with his claws. I felt an instinctive urge to move away from him, but ultimately decided against it. "Did you know what he was going to do?"

"_Suspected, yes,"_ he said slowly, as he flicked his red-eyed gaze towards his immobile trainer and Adrienne. _"Knew for sure? No way to tell from a possible future. So I played a hunch."_

"Luckily for me that turned out," I said quietly, as he sighed again and swiped a claw over the sand patterns he had been making, smudging them into nothingness. "So... are you going to kill me, then?"

Ben remained silent, and I didn't press him for an answer – honestly speaking, I didn't want one. His expression was mostly hidden by the fringe of green hair that hung over the major half of his face, but a single glance in his direction still allowed me to see his red eyes glowing dimly. It was almost as if their usual lustre had been tarnished, somehow.

I sighed, "So I suppose you're going to kill me now, aren't you?"

He cocked his head to one side, gaze not leaving his immobilized trainer's form. _"And what makes you say that?"_

"Like he said," I replied, gesturing towards General Harding where he stood, "I've been a threat to him. And here you are with the villainous plan, like they have in the cartoons. So this is the end, isn't it?"

Before he could come up with a response to that question of mine, I unclipped Silas' pokeball from my belt, and shoved it towards him. "Here, take him."

"_Whatever for?_" Ben asked, looking and sounding utterly bewildered. _"Are you out of your mind?"_

"If this is going to be the end of the line for me, then... I guess he deserves better," I shrugged, offering him a rather forced smile. "Find Silas a good home, will you? Just keep him out of Harding's reach – I doubt that Silas' life would be worth much once I'm gone, frankly."

"_You are stark raving bonkers,"_ the gardevoir huffed. Nonetheless, he still reached out with his powers and levitated Silas' pokeball out of my hand. _"But really, there's no need for all that."_

I frowned. "Silas is innocent in all this. Whatever he did was according to my instruction-"

My words were cut off in mid-flow as the pokeball flew back to my belt, and neatly clipped itself back to its usual spot. "What the hell-"

Ben tapped the side of his face with his claws for a few moments, apparently studying my reaction to that. _"There's no need to find Silas a new home, my dear. No one's dying tonight, not if I have anything to say about it."_

I groaned, and rubbed at my temples in exasperation. "Mother of fuck, can't you psychics _ever_ do anything in a straightforward manner? Whatever happened to killing people with a bullet to the head? You buggers must've influenced Harding into all this drawn-out killing procedures or whatnot."

"_I wouldn't have pegged you for the defeatist type. Or the suicidal type, for the matter."_

"My only meaning in life presently lies in my work. And maybe this lunatic of a pokemon that I named Silas. My family is probably dreading my visit home, whatever Harding says about it. And you're surprised that I'm just that willing to kick the bucket?" I rolled my eyes at Ben's disbelieving expression. "Or is it some other prophecy that I'm not aware of?"

"_Actually, it is,"_ he said quietly, looking reasonably crestfallen.

"Sweet child of mine..."

"_You know that time isn't exactly linear, right? That every second in time generates an entire subset of possible futures in a three-dimensional region?"_ Ben's voice was beginning to take on a manic edge, and very honestly, I was starting to get a little lost in the proceedings. _"Each second in time links to a practically infinite collection of possible futures, but yet an individual can only live in one such possible future!"_

"What the hell does that metaphysical crap have to do with all this?" I sighed, wondering just how I fit into this colossal mess. Well, aside from my little plot to get my boss thrown in the slammer.

"_Metaphysical? Hardly, though that's how you ignorant folk tend to describe the nature of time,"_ scoffed Ben. _"Prophecies are games of probability; they describe the subset of possible futures most likely to be ventured into by a particular individual. That's why their wording is always so ambiguous._

"_One prophecy may by virtue of its wording and clarity, span a whole lifetime or define just a single, particular moment in time. Despite that, some tend to be clearer than others,"_ he muttered, perking up a little at the end of his little rambling session. _"And that is why I'm not going to kill you, my dear frustrating human."_

"Do elaborate," I said simply, narrowing my eyes at him as I started to think about the number of prophecies that might be floating around. There were probably a thousand of the damned things, come to think of it.

"_Someday, somehow,"_ Ben said, cocking his head to one side, _"my dearly beloved, foolishly intelligent trainer is going to get into a royal cock-up of epic proportions. And you of all people will be the only one who can save him."_

I got up, and stretched my back. Hell, if I wasn't going to die, then I might as well ensure that my spine didn't get stiffer than a teenage male with a swimsuit magazine. "And you of all living, thinking, psychic beings somehow believe in it? I'd find that dubious, Ben. One prophecy implicating me is more than enough!"

"_What kind of fool do you think I am?"_ he retorted. _"Normally, most life-forms have a time trail leading into one group of possible futures. But you, on the other hand, have a time trail that is just that difficult to follow."_

"Adrian managed it," I pointed out, as I walked up to General Harding and waved a palm in front of his face; his lashes didn't even flutter in response. "So you're saying your abilities are inferior to those of an insane slowking?"

Ben let out a mental sniff. _"My abilities are beyond his by an order of magnitude. Bear in mind that it was trying to outdo me that led to his insanity, will you?"_

In the blink of an eye, my mind was flooded with a torrent of strange images. Some showed burning buildings, some showed flowing rivers, and some showed random strangers going about their daily lives. Yet some others showed questionably normal images of plants in flowerpots, dolls lined up on a windowsill, and a dusty, used diary with yellowed pages. My head felt like it was going to split open at the seams, and Ben's smug expression didn't make things any better.

"Alright, alright!" I winced, even as I rubbed at my temples to try and soothe the massive headache he had induced with his psychic abuse. "You've made your point, Ben. So, now what?"

He got up, and dusted the sand off his skin-skirt. _"Fair enough. What does one do with a murderous trainer and his equally guilty protégé? And of course, I couldn't leave Adrienne untended to; that would be plain dangerous."_

"You're the psychic, you can handle it," I said, shaking my head. "Seriously, you people do things so slowly, it's a wonder anything gets done at all!"

Ben offered me a look that almost managed to appear conflicted, but didn't say anything for a while. A heavy silence settled down over us for a short while, and even the milotic in the lagoon began to watch us more intently.

Abruptly, General Harding's pistol flew out of his grip and into its holster, and he blinked his eyes. Adrienne did the same, and looked around in what seemed to be confusion of a sort.

"Why, hello there, kiddo!" he said cheerfully. "Looks like it's been an exciting night, hasn't it?"

He then turned to regard his gardevoir with a curious expression. "I can't say that I recall bringing you along, though, Ben."

"_Oh, I decided to play chaperone,"_ Ben said airily as he walked over to be behind his trainer, and swatting his shoulder lightly. _"You had Adrienne out for some reason, though... crowd control on the milotic?"_

Adrienne merely blinked again, and yawned, scratching the side of her head and looking quite confused.

General Harding seemed to think it over for a second, before nodding his head and smiling widely at us. "Must have been, because right now, I have no fucking idea what ran through my head just now. So, rookie, how's the lagoon view?"

I sucked in a deep breath, and looked over his shoulder. Ben's eyes glowed brightly in the darkness, looking quite as if he was expecting me to say the right thing, without knowing what the right thing was.

"It was quite unexpected, sir," I replied, with my best fake smile. The brief flicker of doubt I saw crossing his expression didn't escape me, though.

xxx

Once we reached the Harding family home, General Harding recalled Adrienne and promptly went for a shower. As I waited for him to be done so that I could wash off the sand and salty feeling due to our brief trip to the lagoon, I saw Ben lingering in the darkness of the kitchen. I headed over to him, and saw that various utensils were all hovering in mid-air, with knife even sharpening itself on a sharpening stone in a rather sinister manner.

"Just what did you do to him and Adrienne?" I asked him, as he toyed with a spatula by making it turn cartwheels on the countertop.

He shook his head slowly. _"Basic memory wipe, like he had her do to you when he first found out about your little scheme against him. You have nothing to worry about, really."_

I frowned. "And what about Adrienne? Did you wipe her memories, too?"

Ben let out a mental chuckle at that. _"Please; a slowbro is, by its very nature, slow. She won't be recalling anything about tonight even if she tried manually reconnecting those neuroconnections. And the same goes for slowking, though anyone who lets Adrian into their head needs a good dose of Thorazine, if you ask me..."_

"I'll just keep that in mind, then," I mumbled, as I turned to leave the kitchen. Just as I was about to cross the threshold into the corridor, though, I felt Ben's touch on my arm.

"_Wait,"_ he said, in a soft voice, even as the shower got turned off in the bathroom, filling the house with silence once again. _"Promise me one thing, please."_

I raised an eyebrow at that, even as General Harding began whistling a tune inside the bathroom.

"_I saved you tonight, so that when the time comes..."_ Ben's voice trailed off a little. _"Well, when the time is right, save him."_

"From what?" I whispered, a knot tying itself in my gut for some odd reason. "And how will I know if the time is right?"

"_I don't know, either. Save him from whatever it is, even if it turns out to be himself,"_ he flicked his gaze towards the bathroom door. _"Please, I beg you."_

Finally, I nodded slowly in agreement. Light spilled into the corridor as the bathroom door was opened, and General Harding stepped out in a pair of shorts, still drying his hair.

"She's all yours, rookie! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to grab some sleep," he yawned, as he headed back to the room we were sharing.

As I stepped towards the bathroom, Ben's baleful gaze didn't escape my notice.

xxx

The trip to Sootopolis went by faster after that, though it did feel slower at some times. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was living on borrowed time, and that I had nearly died that night at the milotics' lagoon. General Harding and Adrienne went about their daily business as normal, cheerfully and happily, while Ben seemed to share some of my sentiments on the matter. He certainly was a great deal more subdued since that night, though only Mrs. Harding really noticed it – her son and husband were quick to put it down to a crush on the medicham down the road.

At one point, I almost felt like grabbing my superior officer by the neck and shouting in his face, just to settle everything. I didn't know how he managed it, really; Ben claimed that he had wiped my memory at least once, and so I guessed that he had tasted the same turmoil I was going through before.

All I wanted to do as I lay there at night, trying to fall asleep, was to set things straight with him. But I didn't, and before I knew it, it was time for me to leave Sootopolis. Of course, knowing where I was headed after Sootopolis didn't help things get any better.

Ben did offer me a wary smile as I left, though, and his parting handshake was accompanied by the mental image of an hourglass with just a few grains of sand running through its neck. Just what it meant, I didn't know, but somehow, that image managed to soothe my badly shaken nerves.

He did teleport me to my next destination, though he was considerate enough to drop me a good kilometre or so from the actual spot. I walked up to the place where I was supposed to be staying for the next three day and was almost immediately assaulted by a veritable flood of memories – one thousand meters had never felt so long before.

The little cafe at the corner was still open, and there was Gilbert's trailer parked next to it. Of Gilbert himself there was no sign, though the clothesline was laden with several pairs of faded jeans that were unmistakably his, even after my long absence.

The three crazy mongrel dogs at the corner house were still living in their fenced-up compound, and they did offer me friendly tail wags as I passed by. That crazy old man living down the road was still watering his plants, and I noted with some amazement that they had all yet to die from being drowned on a daily basis. A strange smell floated out of Ms. Paati's house, indicating that she had probably just burned her dinner again.

Some of the folks who happened to be outdoors at the time gave me stares, which only motivated me to walk faster.

In fact, I hardly noticed that I had reached my destination until I reflexively reached into a mailbox to retrieve mail that wasn't even mine. I had collected the mail from that same mailbox for years, and the instinct to do so had remained with me, strangely enough. After I collected the mail – consisting of some flyers, a furniture catalogue, and the electricity bill – I turned to face the house which the mailbox belonged to, and abruptly forgot to draw my next breath.

The fucking house still looked the same, even after nearly half a decade.

Hesitantly, I unlatched the main gate, and walked into the house compound. Being sure to latch the gate before going further into the compound, I walked up the short driveway and stood in front of the main door. Little Japanese roses in their plastic pots waved about in the gentle breeze that blew by, almost looking as if they were teasing me for returning here when I had sworn not to.

At least, not until I had made something of myself other than a soldier who nearly got killed by the commanding officer he'd tried to oust from office.

Before I could even knock on the door, it opened, and all I could do was to blink like a noctowl at the woman standing in the doorway. Like the house, she hadn't changed one bit in the few years since I'd last seen her. Upon closer inspection, though, some things had changed in her appearance – her hair now had streaks of grey in it, and there were a couple of wrinkles in her forehead that I definitely don't remember her having.

She regarded me through a pair of narrow-framed bifocals, and made me feel a whole new bout of nervousness. I was hoping that I'd get lucky and that she would have been at work when I arrived, but of course, today it looked like she had gotten home a tad earlier than usual.

We just stood there for a bit, surrounded by a tense silence that dared one of us to break it. I swear, you could have suffocated a rock with that sheer quietness – it was that tangible.

As it turned out, she made the first move. "So, you came. I was wondering if you'd actually listen to your orders and come over."

I bit my lower lip nervously. "Well... what else would you have expected me to do? I could have returned to Canalave, but..."

She took off her spectacles, and retrieved their case from her pocket. In a flash, they were stashed away in the case, and safely nestled in her pocket. I was just about to muse that she still could stow her glasses away faster than a cowboy on the draw, when she stepped forward and hugged me tightly. I let out a squeak of surprise, and then hugged her, somewhat awkwardly.

"Welcome home, son," she said, sounding as if she was suppressing a sob as she embraced me.

I somehow managed to speak despite the lump in my throat. "Hello, Mom."


	28. Homecoming

**Chapter 27 – Homecoming**

It didn't take long for my mother to somehow propel me into the living room, and deposit me in the armchair near the door. In the blink of an eye, she vanished in the kitchen's general direction, leaving me sitting in the living room with my haversack on my lap. Given that I hadn't been home in nearly five years, it was certainly a rather unnerving experience.

Shaking my head to get myself back into the mindset of the – hopefully – sane, I placed my haversack next to the armchair and headed towards the kitchen. As I passed the den, I saw that some things in there had been moved about. For starters, the shapeless old beanbag that had been there seemingly since the beginning of human civilization was gone, and the television set looked a little dustier than I recall it ever being in my years of living with it.

_"Ah, you're back!"_ came a deep voice from somewhere behind me, causing me to jump a little. _"Come here and let me get a good look at you!"_

Turning around with a faint smile, I said, "Nice to see you too, Bruiser."

Bruiser was a machamp, and had been my mother's starter when she had been a trainer. Of course, he was a machop all those decades ago, and was now quite old for his species. Nonetheless, he still retained the muscular build that was the hallmark of his kind, and could easily beat a younger machamp into submission if he really wanted to. If you asked him, he was not merely young at heart, but also young in the muscles.

Well, you would probably want to ignore his bifocals when you talk to him, though. There's something just that amusing about a physical powerhouse like a machamp having to wear spectacles to see clearly.

He came closer to me, and used one of his four hands to adjust his ridiculously tiny bifocals. _"Still a scrawny little shrimp, though I see some muscle tone where it counts. And that hair... my goodness, it does look better on you than short hair!"_

"You haven't changed one bit, Bruiser," I laughed, wincing a little as he pulled me into a massive, four-armed machamp hug and just managed to avoid breaking my ribs. "Ouch."

Believe me, having a machamp regarding you as his little 'not-machop' was a very humbling yet pleasant experience.

Of all my mother's three surviving pokemon, Bruiser was probably the one who treated me with the most affection. Growing up, he had been like an elder brother to me, and had made sure that I knew how to defend myself against bullies by the age of eight. Amy and Allan hadn't been quite as friendly to me, and more often than not, Bruiser had actually rescued me from Allan's sadistic little sojourns into my subconscious – just one of the hazards of having your mother owning a mismagius, I suppose.

_"So, where's trainer? I take it she knows that you're back?"_ he asked me as he released his crushing grip on me and headed to the kitchen. _"If my ears are right, it sounds like she's in the kitchen."_

"She knows I'm back," I replied, as I followed him into the kitchen. Talk about another place in the house that hadn't changed – it looked exactly the same as it had when I left. All the cabinets, jars, and normal kitchen items were still the same old ones, and it seemed that Bruiser had managed to avoid breaking any more of them since I'd been gone.

It didn't escape my memory that the kitchen was the last I'd seen of my family home before I'd run away to join the army. All I had grabbed was some bread for the road, and it was off to the military depot after that.

How time flew.

I was so lost in my little stew of nostalgia and deep thought that I barely heard my mother and Bruiser calling out my name.

_"- anyone in there?"_ Bruiser asked, waving two hands in front of my face, while the other two made him a sandwich. _"Hello?"_

"Sorry, just got carried away for a bit..." I blinked sheepishly. "You were saying?"

He gaped at me. _"Wait, you understand me now?"_

I cocked my head to one side and offered him a grin. "Of course, sweetheart. Picked up a few skills in the army, I did."

"That's a pleasant surprise," my mother said, as she popped up behind me – the woman was like a damned ninjask! – and steered me into a chair. "Now, you're going to sit down and tell us just what you've been up to for the last however many years it's been... Four?"

_"Three or thereabouts,"_ nodded Bruiser, as he munched on a celery-saturated sandwich. _"And that's right – spill the details!"_

All I could do was to stare a little at the two of them as they seated themselves opposite me at the dining table. I was accustomed to things moving fast in the army, sure, but my mother and Bruiser seemed to be even quicker than that when it came to interrogating their long-lost family member. Or maybe not that long-lost, but still!

"Well, I joined the military," I said evenly, as my mother shoved a plate towards me with a sandwich on it – looked like it had tuna in it, of all things. "And um, I got sent to Canalave."

_"You must have been quite bad at the whole soldier deal if it took you two years to get deployed to Canalave,"_ Bruiser pointed out, causing my mother to smack him lightly on one of his biceps. _"What? I speak nothing but the truth!"_

"Can it, Bruiser! Though... he does have a point," my mother shook her head. "You do suck at storytelling, at the very least. Glad to see that's not changed."

I shrugged, and picked up the tuna sandwich. Before I took a bite out of it, though, I saw that my mother had actually trimmed off the crusts, as she tended to do. My father and I never did that on our own, so it had always been one of her little pet peeves that we ate our bread with the crusts on it. For some reason I could place, just seeing those two slices of bread, devoid of their crust, made me hesitate.

It really felt like too much, the sandwich. I'd been eating military-grade chow for several years now, and just the thought of eating that pretty little sandwich made me feel uneasy. Sure, my mother had made it and not eating it would have been horribly rude of me, but something just made me put it back on the plate.

"Is something wrong?" she asked me, sounding worried.

Fortunately, I was spared the difficulty of coming up with a coherent response by Allan suddenly passing through the kitchen's wall and floating up to the table. The mismagius was still considered a young adult by ghostly standards, and his demeanour did little to contradict that.

His red eyes glowed with a mischievous sort of glee as he hovered not three feet away from me, and the ragged ribbons that formed his body blew about in a breeze that only he could feel._ "Why, hello, hello... it's been a long time since I've had the pleasure of your company."_

"Allan," I said pleasantly, suppressing a wince as I remembered how he had plagued my sleep with nightmares as a child, and how my mother had never believed in my claims that one of her own pokemon was tormenting me in my dreams. "How are the soft toys?"

He positively lit-up upon hearing that, and moved closer to me, brushing the edge of his face against mine. _"Oh, they're all fine! They're all still cuddly and adorable, even after all these years... Say, am I interrupting anything? Trainer and Bruiser look concerned."_

I turned to look at my mother and her starter, and sure enough, they looked just a little uneasy. Bruiser's glance at my sandwich gave me a rough idea of what was bugging them, though.

"Oh, I'm just not that hungry, long-distance teleportation and all that," I quickly lied, noticing with some relief that their expressions softened up by just a little bit upon hearing that. "Could I take it to wherever I'll be sleeping to eat it? Need to unpack a little."

"Ah, sure..." Mom said, looking a little tired. "I've dusted your old room, so just get down here in time for dinner, will you? Dad will be home in a bit, so we'll have dinner as a family again, for once."

I pretended to not hear that last bit as I snatched up the sandwich and got out of my seat, leaving the kitchen. As I walked to the living room to collect my haversack, I felt Allan's distinct presence somewhere near me, and eventually saw him hovering near the ceiling fan.

_"Smooth words, Pinocchio,"_ he murmured, his necklace shining with an eerie glow. _"I'll be keeping an eye on you, I will."_

I shrugged. "Go ahead, then. Just stay the fuck out of my head."

His smiling reply was hardly comforting._ "We'll see about that."_

xxx

Going up the stairs to my old room was probably the most unsettling experience since I'd walked through the front door. That old loose stair still creaked, and the pictures hung on the wall next to the stairs were pristine as ever in their frames. Somehow, all those photographed faces, frozen in time as they were – even mine – seemed to be mocking me and following me with their gaze.

Hell, the only thing that prevented me from turning around to double-check for a dokunemon possibly hiding on a photograph and spying on me was the tangible feeling of Allan keeping an eye on my back. Ever had the feeling that you were being watched, followed by no one being around when you turned to look? Well, if Allan _was_ behind you and you turned to face him, you'd be babbling incoherently for a bit once he got done with your fright.

After what felt like ages, I reached the landing above the stairs, and headed to my former bedroom. The door was still the same as I had left it, with that little 'I'm NAKED' sign stuck to it. It was clear that no one had been there in a while, though – a noticeably musty smell lingered about the doorway.

Hesitantly, I grasped the doorknob, and turned it. The door opened inwards, and... There it was – my old room, exactly as it had been those few years back.

I stepped into the room, and silently took in its appearance. My desk was still there, with my old books neatly arranged on it. My high school graduation photograph and diploma were still framed above the desk, while my little clothes cabinet sat next to it as it always had. The piplup plushie I used to sleep with stared at me with its glassy black eyes from where it was placed on the desk, leaning against the cabinet.

And of course, the bed was also untouched. It took me a second or several to realise it, but the sheets were clearly the same as those that had been on it the night I ran away. As the realisation hit me, I somehow felt a curious mixture of nostalgia and nausea. Bile rose in my throat as I started getting torn between caving in to my memories, and feeling disgusted at the fact that my room seemed to now be a motherfucking shrine of a sort.

Naturally, I decided to consult someone whose opinion was always unbiased. And this obviously means that I let Silas out of his pokeball. I figured that it couldn't be worse than my current situation, anyway.

He materialized on my bed, and seemed surprised at the fact that he was no longer in Sootopolis. Blinking slowly as he took in his surroundings, he stuck out his tongue to taste the air, and seemed to flinch a little upon noticing the mothball-scented atmosphere.

"_Where are we, Trainer?"_ he whistled, as he cast a critical eye at my old piplup doll. _"Weren't we just at the Hardings' place?"_

I shook my head, and sat down heavily on the bed next to him. "Ben teleported us to Jubilife a couple of hours ago, Silas. We are... well, this is my old room."

Silas' eyes grew wide as he began paying more attention to the room and its contents, and he let out a low, rasping sound as he glanced about. _"It's... clean. Was it always like this, or did your mother tidy for your arrival?"_

"She dusted, yes," I said absently as I picked him up and placed him on my lap. "Otherwise, it's still the same, layout-wise."

My starter remained silent as he digested those words of mine, and let out a bubble that popped on the wooden floor. _"Well... it figures, given your nature."_

All I did was to nod as I lay down on my bed, shifting Silas onto my stomach as I did so. Oddly enough, it seemed to sag down under my weight, giving me the impression that the mattress itself was letting out a long-held breath, or something.

For a while, there was nothing but silence in the room. The tuna sandwich without its crusts sat on its plate over at my desk, while the wall clock remained mute and frozen at some ungodly hour. My old piplup kept staring off into space with its lifeless eyes, and the soft evening light came in through the window.

"_Well..."_ Silas finally said. _"What's the matter, Trainer?"_

"I ran away from this," I replied matter-of-factly. "And I really could have pulled a fast one on my parents by not coming to stay here. But yet, I came back."

He kept quiet for a bit, and spoke up in what was probably the most neutral tone I'd ever heard from him. _"I see."_

I shut my eyes, and tried to scrunch them tightly shut in an attempt to quell the headache that was starting to build up somewhere between my eyes. It really felt like too many things were going one at the same time, despite the silence and relative peace.

Silas' weight on my abdomen seemed to complement the sinking feeling that was already swirling about inside it like a ravenous swalot. Quite naturally, thanks to that I didn't feel inclined to eat the tuna sandwich at all, given that I had already been hesitant about even accepting it from my mother.

"There's a sandwich on the desk, Silas. Tuna," I said softly, running a hand through my hair and exhaling deeply. "It's yours if you want it."

He cast a wary glance at my face, and blew a raspberry. _"Bollocks if I'm going to eat that thing now, as attractive as tuna sounds. What's eating at _you_, Trainer?"_

"I ran away," I replied, chewing on my lower lip.

Silas didn't say anything in response to those words, and for that little mercy, I was thankful.

xxx

Dinner was a disastrous affair. Or perhaps that was an understatement.

I hadn't seen my father since I'd run away, of course, and I hadn't been the best of buddies with him even before I'd pulled that particular stunt. And he had beaten me to the dinner table, which made it all the more awkward for Silas and I when Mom called us down for dinner. Thankfully, Bruiser was seated on the fourth side of the table, separating me from Daddy dearest.

Silas must have noticed the pained look I had on my face, because he, curiously enough, remained silent as I placed him next to my dinner plate and scooped some stew in a bowl for him. For a short while, the table was silent save for the sounds of cutlery.

"So..." Dad started, leaving his words hanging as he used to, "I heard that someone's doing quite well over at Canalave."

"Not exactly," I mumbled, picking at my stew with my fork. "Still nothing more than a lowly administrative assistant, really."

Bruiser chuckled. _"Modest as ever, my little not-machop is. Why didn't you tell us about your promotion? I heard that you got boosted in rank after the terrorist attacks."_

"_He got promoted?"_ Silas chimed in. "_That's news to me; Trainer, since when did you get a promotion?"_

"Oh, how wonderful!" Mom beamed at me. "Your... General Harding didn't mention that bit when he called."

I sighed, and put my fork down. "I turned down my promotion, Mom. Took an offer for neural implants instead – that's how I understand pokemon speech now."

Dad frowned upon hearing that little bit of news. "You let the government put little chips in your brain?"

As I opened my mouth to answer the question, Silas spoke up.

"_Somewhere in his inner ears, actually. And you people aren't the only ones he's shocked with this,"_ my treasonous starter happily declared, earning a swat on the shell. _"Did you hear about the Soup incident?"_

Three pairs of eyes swivelled to regard me with what appeared to be a perverse sort of curiosity. Out of the corner of my left eye, I swore that I saw the shadows behind the oven glowing a dull red – oh, goodness, even Allan was in on the dinner now.

"Do tell," said Dad politely, raising an eyebrow as he turned to look at Silas. "Just what has he been doing over there? Something notorious, by the sound of it."

I glared at Silas. "Don't, if you know what's good for you."

"_Bitch, please,"_ he retorted smugly, ignoring the withering look Mom fixed on him. _"Your secrets are mine to reveal, hah!_

"_Simply put, good sir, your son attempted to boil me alive in a soup pot when we were first acquainted. He even tied me up to make sure that I wouldn't escape!"_

"Dear!" Mom squawked, as Bruiser gave me the evil eye and Allan began cackling from the shadows behind the oven where he was hiding. Dad seemed impassive, and merely resumed his dinner with a shrug. "That's abuse!"

I shrugged, and offered Silas a bit of my stew. "Well, he was being aggressive and uncooperative, and I'm not above using torture to obtain what I require from subjects."

"_You... torture people?"_ Bruiser coughed, thumping himself on the back as some food went down the wrong way. _"Dear gods above, little not-machop, since when were you such a horrible sadist?"_

Before I could give him an answer to that, Silas stepped in, the little bastard. _"Since he started going out for drinks with General Harding on some Friday nights. And started passing out naked on the floor of his dorm room. And started getting laid when drunk._

"_Did I mention that he is actually quite a nice person to be around when drunk? Not a philosophical drunk, but he does seem to grow a sense of humour when he drinks."_

Mom looked positively furious, while Dad steadily continued eating. Bruiser's eyes looked ready to pop out of his skull, and Allan seemed to have died of mirth-induced suffocation, if his silence was anything to go by. Silas looked smug, and all I could do was to roll my eyes at him while mouthing several interestingly colourful words that would've earned me an earful from Mom had I said them aloud.

"This... this is not what General Harding said you'd been up to at Canalave!" she said angrily. "We thought you'd been respectable, hardworking, and an upstanding citizen over at Canalave! But now there's pokemon abuse – by boiling! – and alcoholism problems, it seems!"

"_Certainly most amusing,"_ echoed a faint voice from the oven's general direction. _"And he's got balls!"_

"Thanks, Allan," I said, as I finished the last of my stew. Rising out my seat, I collected the empty plates on the table, and took them over to the sink. "And no, Mom, I'm not an alcoholic – I hold my liquor surprisingly well and only pass out when General Harding lures me into a drinking match."

Dad let out a cough and muttered, "He definitely got that streak from your side of the family."

Even as I did the dishes, I could practically feel the heated glare that my mother sent in my and his direction. And I didn't miss the sound of Bruiser accidentally biting the tines off his fork, either.

I finished drying the last of the plates I'd washed, and headed past the table. "If you still want to continue with the dinner table gossip... well, Silas knows how to make it back to the room. I'm sure he'll keep you entertained for a while."

"Scandalised _is more like it!"_ squeaked Bruiser, as he massaged his temples.

"_He also gives me beer, sometimes, if he thinks I'm too rowdy,"_ Silas announced proudly, as I left the kitchen. _"Oh, the things I could tell you about Trainer..."_

I wasn't quite sure if the thump I heard was due to my mother fainting and falling out of her chair, or if Bruiser had accidentally destroyed something.

Whatever it was, I was glad to be out of the kitchen.

xxx

It didn't take long for Silas to finish scandalising my parents with undoubtedly honest tales of my exploits. I walked into my room after a quick, freezing cold shower to see him sitting on my pillow, which looked as if he'd attempted to fluff it up using his tongue. Well, I hoped that the damp patches weren't all shellder saliva, but one can never be too pessimistic with a crazy mollusc as a partner.

"So, I take it they weren't amused much," I said, as I grabbed my backpack and fished a T-shirt out. "Told them about the gay porn?"

Silas let out a little squeak, and his eyes bugged out a little. _"What kind of sick bastard do you think I am? Of course I didn't tell them about your... acting career."_

I sat down on the edge of the bed, and flopped down onto my back. "Thanks, Silas."

The room was quiet for a while as we sat there, staring at the ceiling. Or Silas might have been staring somewhere else, I don't know.

"_Is it really that painful for you to be back in this house?"_ Silas asked me, so softly that I almost missed the question.

I shook my head. "Not painful, maybe. More towards suffocating."

"_How so?"_

"In silence we find our suffering..." I said simply.

"_... and in suffering we find our salvation,"_ finished Silas, earning a cocked eyebrow from me. _"I am not an illiterate hermit, Trainer. There are some poems I've heard before."_

Just as soon as he'd finished speaking, the room's door swung open, and my mother walked into the room. No knocking or anything. I sat up as though I had received a particularly nasty electric shock, and Silas whirled about on the pillow like a miniature turret in a clamshell.

"Mom!" I blinked at her absently. "Umm, could you knock next time? I could've been doing anything in here."

She raised an eyebrow. "Not like I haven't seen everything before. Anyway, your father wanted to let Silas know that he was very good company at the dinner table. Not bad, for your pokemon to squeeze such a compliment out of him."

"_I try not to disappoint,"_ Silas said with what seemed to be a smug look. I offered him a pat on the shell, and turned back to see my mother staring at the burn scars on my chest.

"And what happened to you?" she asked me, reaching a hand out as if she wanted to touch the scars, but stopping herself halfway through. "Direct burn marks, if I'm not mistaken."

I nodded, and her expression changed to one of worry. "Yup. A magmortar beat me across the chest during that fire at Canalave."

"Take better care of your self will you?" she said, as she turned to leave the room. "Or at least, ask Silas to watch your back."

"Will do, ma'am," I muttered, watching her retreating back. "Hmph, easy for her to say that. She wasn't there in a fucking inferno!"

_"She's just worried for you,"_ Silas hummed, creating a new wet patch on my pillow and confirming my earlier suspicions about the shellder saliva._ "So, what shall we do now? Could you take me around the neighbourhood for a tour?"_

"Tomorrow, Silas. And that's a guarantee."

_"I'll buy that."_

xxx

They say dreamless sleep is the deepest of all sleep. But yet, I found myself waking up after several hours of it, and finding that the moon was still shining brightly up in the sky. Maybe it was part of the insomnia I'd seemed to have developed since General Harding had nearly disposed of me at the milotics' lagoon. Or maybe it was just me being on edge thanks to this... forced vacation back home.

I looked down, and saw Silas contentedly sleeping on the bed, snuggled up against my side like an armoured puppy. His tongue was draped over my stomach, and little bubbles flew out between the halves of his shell each time he exhaled. For a few seconds, I mentally had a laugh at what was probably his equivalent of a snot bubble.

And then I looked further away, and saw her.

My mother was sleeping in her usual reading chair, next to my room's door. Apparently, she had snuck in while I was sleeping, and had fallen asleep while sitting there. There wasn't a single book in sight on her lap or on the floor around the chair, so I figured that reading hadn't been on her mind when she'd entered the room.

A breeze blew in through the half-opened window, and the chill that permeated throughout the room served as a chilly reminder that the dorm back at Canalave somehow was stuffier than the Jubilife suburbs. Unusual given that Canalave was a port, but there you had it.

Gently lifting Silas' tongue off my stomach and folding it onto the top half of his shell, I picked up my blanket, and got out of bed. Walking over to my sleeping mother in her chair and wincing slightly at the coldness of the floor, I slowly draped the blanket over her, tucking it in as best I could – not that easy considering her sleeping position.

As I headed back to my bed, she let out a sleepy 'thank you'.

I went back to sleep.


	29. Jubilife

**Chapter 28 – Jubilife**

The sun was still peeking over the horizon as I walked to the Jubilife morning market, shopping list in one hand and basket in the other. Silas was sticking the rim of his shell over the basket's edge, and was taking in the sights as we headed to the bustling madness that was the market. Occasionally, I got an odd look or several as people wondered why I had a shellder in my basket.

For my part, I was also doing my fair share of sightseeing. The streets leading from my family home to the market hadn't changed much since I'd been gone, it seemed. Similar to yesterday, everything in Jubilife seemed to have been frozen in time or something like that. Unlike Canalave, where there were different ships docked in port with each passing day, life in my old hometown seemed to be at a standstill for some strange reason.

"_It's certainly different from Canalave,"_ Silas remarked, as we passed by old Miss Foo's house. _"Everyone here is so... quiet."_

I nodded, noting that Miss Foo was still in the habit of dusting her carpets early in the morning. "True... And kind of unusual given that we're in Sinnoh's broadcasting hub. But maybe the people here just got fed-up of all the noise."

While many things in Jubilife were clearly the same as they had been not too long ago, some things had of course changed. For one, there were more military agents and creatures on the streets. Then there were the new buildings, all located where I last remembered a row of derelict houses being before they got slotted for demolition. And naturally, there hadn't been the inlaid spike strips or security cameras at the street corners back when I was in elementary school – those were little artefacts of the Revolution.

Even the species of pokemon and digimon that the army had patrolling the streets of Jubilife were unique to the city. Canalave and Sootopolis were both harbour cities, so during my trip to the Harding's place the street patrols were more or less identical from a species perspective. The ports mainly had divermon and water pokemon walking about, whereas Jubilife had the likes of tankmon and magnemite making their merry way all about the place.

As we approached the skyscraper that was the Jubilife radio tower – the heart of Jubilife, some claimed, and they wouldn't have been too far wrong - Silas let out a whistle, _"Damn, that's a fine piece of architecture. More than a century old, isn't it?"_

I stopped in my tracks and nodded, surprised. "Well, yes. How'd you figure that out?"

He blew a bubble. _"I've been in captivity longer than you think, Trainer. So I learned a few things over the years."_

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"_Yes, Trainer,"_ he said, sounding a tad wistful. _"Twelve years in a tank, until you of all people came along to bail me out. Fate is cruel, isn't it?"_

"Twelve years?" I stared at him. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"_Ask Babamon if you don't believe me. Anyway, it's nice to see that old buildings like that are still being preserved – everyone ought to appreciate history where it's due!"_

Shaking my head out of sheer disbelief, I continued walking. "You surprise me, Silas. Didn't think that you'd know about Jubilife's history, of all places."

He whistled at me in response. _"What else is there to do in a tank, really? There was this old wartortle there who seemed to know loads of history, so I hung around with him until he died. Really, until you came along, I didn't even plot and scheme or anything."_

"Keep it down, will you? Someone might overhear us!"

"_As if they'd care,"_ Silas huffed. _"What were those black things flying around the radio tower, anyway?"_

I shrugged, "Probably a few dusknoir – they use to them monitor radio frequencies from the Underworld, supposedly."

"_For real?" _his eyes bugged out a little.

"Ask my father later – he works in there," I rolled my eyes, even though there wasn't anyone there at eye-level to see it. "And here we are, Silas!"

We went around a corner, and were assaulted by a sudden wave of noise. Yup, that was the market, all right. And it seemed that business went on as it always did, as with everything else in the city.

Silas' eyes were bigger and rounder than ever, and seemed to be at risk of exploding as we passed by the market's various stalls. Heaps of vegetables, huge slabs of fresh meat, veritable mountains of crushed ice with fish heads sticking out of them, piles of fruits... and that was just the food. Racks of clothes and other imitation goods were also on display, along with toys and trinkets.

And of course, there was the market crowd. Beings of all shapes, sizes, and colours, all united in the common goal of marketing. Some of them were garbed in pajamas, some were dressed in casual wear, and once or thrice, I even saw a few people in military uniforms making their way through the crowd. As for the reason for me saying 'beings' earlier? Well, a few pokemon such as ampharos could be seen walking around with shopping baskets of their own, running errands for their trainers, or even the odd digimon or two.

"Fresh beef! Get your choice cuts here!"

"Locksmith services available here... keys, locks, locksmith services available here!"

"Curry noodles! Fried chicken!"

"See, everyone – this detergent cleans the stubborn stain right off!"

"Three for the price of one, farm-fresh produce!"

There was a loud thud, and a large fish was suddenly on the ground in front of us, flopping about as blood oozed out of its swollen forehead. Silas and I froze where we were for a moment, as an annoyed fishmonger stepped out from behind her stall and proceeded to club the fish over its head with what looked like an iron rolling pin.

"Sorry 'bout that, laddie!" she said cheerfully, as she hauled the unconscious – I hoped – fish back onto her chopping board and proceeded to behead it with one swing of a massive cleaver. "Some of 'em have thicker heads, need to bang 'em twice to conk 'em before the chop!"

"_Trainer,"_ Silas said, for once sounding awed, _"this is... incredible!"_

I raised an eyebrow at that. "You are quite the little sadist, aren't you?"

"_Not the fish whacking, the market, you nincompoop!"_

"Jubilife's market is one of the busiest in Sinnoh, Silas," I nonchalantly nodded, as I made my way towards Mom's regular fishmonger. "So there's lots of interesting stuff to see here. Now, what does Mom want... fish, eggs, and some leafy garbage to top it all off."

"_You do know that without that 'leafy garbage', you'd be shitting bricks, don't you, Trainer?"_

"We both know where you can stuff that answer, don't we?"

"_Hah, nice one, you fuckwad!"_ several curious looks were aimed in our direction as he cackled that one out. _"And what are you buggers looking at?"_

Thumping him on the shell to stop the flow of profanity before it started – and drawing some scandalised looks for it – I held Silas up in front of another fishmonger's stall, where several large lobsters were on display. "They have hammers here, Silas. And I'm sure they know how to use them."

"_Pfft, as if those puny things could crack my shell,"_ he retorted smugly. _"You'd be better off trying to send a snorlax sailing on a paper boat, really."_

"Oh, of that, I'm sure," I said, nodding enthusiastically. "Mister, can I borrow this hammer for a moment?"

"What the-" the fishmonger, a burly man with a walrein-like moustache, barely had time to get startled, let alone respond, before I snatched up one of his hammers. According to the engraving on the side, the hammer's head was a five-pounder; more than enough for my purposes.

Without further ado, I brought down the hammer on Silas' shell with a resounding CLANG! As expected, his shell wasn't even chipped by the blow, though he did let out a shrill squeak that quavered somewhat near the end. Hell, the _hammer_ seemed to have been somewhat dented by the blow, as opposed to his pristine-looking shell.

"... Kid, you need help, seriously," the fishmonger sighed, as I handed his hammer back to him. "Could I interest you in some crabs or lobster, then? Best prices in the marketplace!"

"Thanks, but no thanks," I answered, holding Silas up to look him in the eye - I saw that he seemed to be slightly cross-eyed. "Have we learned our lesson, Silas?"

"_... Bastard child... My head's ringing like a drunk bronzong..."_

"You don't have a head," I happily reminded him, as I continued on down the market lane, ignoring the glares and stares I was receiving thanks to me going all Quasimodo on him.

"_... Asswipe..."_

It didn't exactly take long to finish Mom's shopping list after that – surprisingly enough, I actually remembered where the stalls she frequented were all located – and Silas even got a free snack thanks to the fishmonger, who somehow found him to be a cute little thing. We ended up taking a walk down a few back alleys, and finding our way to a secluded little lane with several little shops lining it.

"So, how's your first impression of the city?" I asked Silas, as I sat down to my breakfast in one of the alley's small eateries.

"_First impression of the market, you mean? Haven't seen the city itself, aside from the radio tower,"_ he replied. _"And my head's still ringing from that banging."_

"Could have phrased that second part better, that's for sure," I shrugged as I bit into the bun that was my breakfast. "Well, the city's pretty similar to Canalave... so the market's pretty much closer to what the locals see it as."

"_Fair enough, then,"_ he chirped, as he returned to the piece of fish the fishmonger had given to him. _"And I'm going to get you back for the head-banging, just you see!"_

"You and whose army, eh?"

"_Someday, someday! Perhaps I'll get those lopunny back at Canalave to tie you up and take turns to molest you!"_ he said haughtily.

I spat out a mouthful of half-chewed food, narrowly avoiding choking on it. "That, Silas, is one of the sickest things I've heard in a while."

"_You are definitely my bitch, Trainer,"_ he cackled.

"Are there any soup pots here?" I looked around casually, noting Silas' panicked expression before I faced away from him. "Chowder sounds good..."

"_... Fine, you win. For now."_

We just sat there for a while, with me nibbling on my bun and Silas finishing the last of his free fish. Laundry that had been hung out to dry several floors above us formed a sort of roof over the alley, and the sunlight that reached us changed colours as several sheets got blown about in the wind.

"_It's so peaceful here,"_ Silas remarked, as the two of us finished our breakfast. "_Curious, really..."_

I turned to regard him with a raised eyebrow. "And what has gotten your curiosity's attention this time, dearie?"

"_If things here were always so quiet and peaceful... why did you leave?"_

Breakfast didn't seem so appetising anymore after that question of his. I pushed what was left of my bun towards him, and exhaled slowly.

"Let's take a walk, then."

"_Where to?"_

I picked him up, and placed him in the marketing basket, on top of the groceries. "We'll drop these off with Mom, and then we'll go to the Jubilife... cemetery."

xxx

Jubilife's one and only cemetery was but a stone's throw away from my family home, so it didn't take us long to get there. I'd managed to snag a satchel on the way out after delivering the groceries back home, so Silas was strapped to my back, peeking out at the sights behind me as I walked. Every now and then, someone walking past me on the road would slow down, as if the sight of Silas in a satchel was something unusual.

Really, it seemed that a man couldn't even carry his companion shellder around on his back anymore without being regarded as a weirdo, or something.

"Here we are, Silas," I said, as I took off the satchel and turned him to face the cemetery's gates.

"And why are we here, again?" he asked me, as I walked through the gates, carrying the satchel in my arms.

"You'll see."

If there was one thing they'd managed to get right when they built the cemetery, it was the location and terrain. The gently sloping grounds were silent and pleasantly cool thanks to the large trees that grew there, and the surrounding housing estates pretty much kept the city's louder residents away from where the dead were supposed to be resting. However, I did notice several ghoul-like bakemon hovering about in the treetops – so it seemed even the dead weren't exempted from security measures, these days.

At least the person who'd posted the bakemon to the cemetery had had the good sense to select a mute species. It was a common joke among the staff back at Canalave's port control that a bakemon only had three senses; to our knowledge, they couldn't smell or taste anything. Somehow, though, they seemed to get along well with the lampent that patrolled the streets at night. Curious, given that bakemon were little more than sentient bundles of rags that could easily be set on fire by their pokemon companions.

Since it was a weekday, there weren't many mourners around. The only people we passed as we headed towards our destination were a couple of old folks with trowels, who were weeding the land between the graves. A loaded wheelbarrow was parked not far away from where they were working, filled with uprooted weeds, some trash, and bunches of rotting flowers that presumably had decorated several graves.

"_Trainer, where are we going?"_ Silas asked me softly, his tongue flicking out to taste the air.

I stopped. "To visit an old friend, I guess. Just a little further in, and he'll be there."

Sure enough, my memory had not failed me. As we went over the top of one of the slopes, his tombstone came into sight. It looked a little yellowish and worn compared to the last time I'd seen it, but that was to be expected – no one visited him, really. The only reason his grave remained presentable was probably due to the efforts of the old people we'd seen earlier, or someone else along those lines.

With a sigh, I sat down in front of his grave, and took Silas out of the satchel, placing him by my side. "Well, Silas, here he is. Meet Sean – the guy who inspired me to run away from home."

Silas' eyes were wide, but he remained silent. I took that as my cue to continue, and patted Silas on his shell before speaking again.

"You see, he and I were best friends in elementary school. Inseparable, we were. That is, until we finished our basic schooling and he decided to go on his training journey. I went on to high school, as you already know.

"We would correspond by mail, as he travelled. I was content with high school, and he got news from home as he went about the continent. Almost every week without fail, there'd be a letter delivered to my place, and he'd have a letter waiting at the next city or town that he was heading to."

I blinked, as my mind suddenly processed the fact that I was talking to a shellder, in front of the grave of someone who had been dead for some time now. It certainly was a weird feeling, to say the least.

"_How did you know where he'd be going?"_ Silas whistled. _"Did he have a psychic, or what?"_

Shaking my head, I rubbed my temples slowly. "Nah, he started with a paras. Caught a gligar later, and a gastly, but he never did get a psychic. I was basically the person he filed his flight plans with. If a letter was late, I'd notify his folks that he was held up in Eterna forest, or something.

"Thing was, he wasn't exactly on good terms with his parents. Not since the divorce, at least. Sean was pretty much a free spirit, and if I'm recalling the facts right, he stole money from his father to start his journey. So they didn't even bother calling him or sending him mail, once he left. See, they thought he was wasting his time, since there wasn't even a gym circuit anymore – the Revolution saw to that."

A soft raspberry was heard coming from Silas' general direction. _"Interesting buddy you had there. So... what happened to him?"_

All I could do was shrug. "Who knows? He sends me a letter telling me that he was planning a trip to the Wayward Cave, and the next thing you know, he goes missing for a month."

"_Did he die then?"_ Silas asked, eyes as round as saucers. _"Even I've heard of how easy it is to get lost in those caverns."_

Wayward Cave was indeed notorious for its labyrinthine tunnels, and during the pre-Revolution days, it held the record for getting the most trainers lost. And also being the place with the most missing trainers who were eventually presumed dead, for the matter.

"No one knows for sure," I murmured, as I cast a glance at the faded inscriptions on Sean's tombstone. "A group of Hikers near Coronet found his body near a bend in the river that came out of Wayward Cave, and that was that. His parents drove out there, identified him – couldn't have been dead that long if they were able to do that, though – and brought him home for a burial. And that was pretty much the end of Sean's journey."

My starter made as if to say something, but I silenced him with a tap on his shell. "Hold it there, Silas. I'm getting to the runaway bit soon enough. You really do need to brush up on your patience, you do.

"At Sean's funeral, I was probably one of three teenagers there. He was only sixteen when he died, Silas. Same age as me back then, but what he taught me that day was beyond my comprehension then.

I stared off into the distance, as the memories flashed through my mind like the scenes from a music video. "It was after the funeral that his mother passed me a letter – the last letter he'd written, or so it seemed. She said it was addressed to me, and left as soon as I'd taken it from her. His father was sobbing over the tombstone, and everyone else had gone off by that time."

My voice trailed off there, as though my vocal cords had suddenly ceased functioning. We sat there in the silence for a while, listening to sounds of the breeze blowing through the trees, and the distant echoes of the city's daily routine. The bakemon lingering in the nearest tree stared at us with their glassy black eyes, ragged bodies rustling as the wind blew past them.

"_So what did he write in that last letter?"_ Silas spoke up, so softly that his voice was almost inaudible.

"Eh?" I shook my head, snapping myself out of the little reverie I'd gotten into. "Oh, right, the letter. He'd only left me one sentence in it, and the writing... well, it looked like it had been written while he was stuck in the cave after his torchlight had run out of batteries, if the handwriting was anything to go by. Or he may have been injured when he wrote it, but I didn't see any bloodstains on the paper.

"All he'd written was this one phrase, 'The time of my life'."

A sudden creaking sound coming from behind us made the two of us jump up from where we sat, and we spun about to check it out. Silas looked ready to fire a few icicles at whoever it was, while my hand had gone to my sidearm. Fortunately, the sound turned out to be from the old people from earlier on, as they moved towards our section of the cemetery with their wheelbarrow of cemetery detritus. I offered them a smile and a wave, and they responded in kind, seemingly rather cheerful despite the job they were carrying out.

Very fortunately for the old folks, they hadn't startled the bakemon too badly. Silas and I had seen the videos of how bakemon dealt with perceived threats, and their methods were... colourful, for lack of a better word. Even a hyperactive blender would've been hard-pressed to match a bakemon for gore as far as disposing of bodies went.

As we settled back down and turned back to face my old friend's grave, Silas nudged me with his tongue. _"That was it?"_

"For the letter, yeah."

"_And you ran away because of that?"_ his voice held a note of incredulity in it. _"Trainer, is there something I'm missing out on, here?"_

"Well, he was assumed to have died of starvation, Silas. And the autopsy showed signs of psychic probing in his brain. So he was most probably half-dead from a lack of food and maybe even a victim of mental rape, but still he wrote that letter. What do you make of that?"

He let out the shellder equivalent of a snort. _"He was a lunatic just like you and the people you tend to hang out with?"_

I could help but laugh at that. "Mad, that's a given. But the way I see it, he wrote that letter to tell me – and from there, others – that he had no regrets. Only after I finished high school did I realise just how much weight that one phrase carried. I really didn't want to end up handling the family business and retiring someday like some old lag, Silas. All I wanted was to make something of myself, beyond what my family expected of me."

"_Right..."_ my shellder said slowly, narrowing his eyes. _"Your late friend didn't regret somehow ending up in a situation where someone fucked with his head and he was starving to death. And you decided to follow his example, of all people._

"_I'll give you that one, on the point of you achieving something, at least. You seemed to have made it to some extent, there... Tell me one thing, though, Trainer; do you have any regrets over running away?"_

All I could do was to chuckle, as I suppressed a whole torrent of memories that threatened to make my voice crack. "Two replies to that, Silas. Firstly, ask no questions and you'll be told no lies. And of course, why the hell are you asking a question that you know the answer to?"

"_You, my good man,"_ Silas blew a raspberry at me, _"are an enigma. And yet... oh well, I suppose you turned out alright, in the end."_

I gave him a pat on the shell, and picked him up. "If you are going to put some thought into this, do let me know when you think you've gotten the message, then."

With that, we walked towards the cemetery gates. As I walked, the answer I'd avoided giving to Silas played about in my mind. He'd asked me if I had any regrets about running away, he had. My answer to that question was simply 'a few' - perhaps even too few to mention.

Briefly, I had a flashback of Sean's last letter, and remembered what I'd done with all of the letters after I'd run away. Maybe someday, someone would find that little metal box I'd buried near the entrance of Wayward Cave. And then, I wonder if they'd ask the same questions Silas asked me.

I hate open-ended questions.


	30. Chat

**Chapter 29 – Chat**

It was about three in the afternoon when we finally got home, so we were more than a little surprised to find that the main door was locked. Somehow, it seemed that Mom had gone out despite it being the middle of the day. And of course, I myself didn't have a key since I was officially a runaway.

"Well, shit!" I muttered, as I placed Silas on the porch, next to the shoe rack. "Looks like we'll be stuck out here until she gets back from wherever she's vanished to, Silas."

Silas made a whistling sound. _"It's still better than when we got locked out of our room back at Canalave, though."_

I grimaced at the memory of the lockout incident. "Don't remind me of that."

We sat there on the porch for a while, watching... well, nothing at all. My family's home was located in a particularly boring part of Jubilife, apparently. Not even five people walked past the house during the one hour we spent sitting on the doorstep, although that woman did look suspiciously like an obese version of that asshole from Canalave port control.

"_Trainer..."_ Silas said, sounding about as whiny as a shellder could, _"are you sure that she hasn't hidden a key somewhere? Or left Bruiser at home to guard the house?"_

"Nah, she's paranoid about spare keys," I shook my head. "And as for Bruiser _letting_ her leave the house without him? Hah!"

"_Nonetheless!"_ Silas huffed. _"If she's as paranoid as you claim, she'd have left Allan home, right?"_

"Nope; she leaves Amy home, especially since that incident with Allan and the toilet rolls," I replied, staring at the bushes next to the driveway. "Wait, _what?_"

Silas squeaked angrily. _"You mean to say that your mother's arbok has been home all this while?"_

"She slipped my mind!"

"_She's a fucking cobra that's nearly thirty feet long! How the fuck _could_ she 'slip your mind'?"_

"Be quiet, you little bastard child!"

Before Silas could come up with an undoubtedly profane retort, a flying slipper flew through the air and hit him on the shell. Made of rubber and obscenely pink, it bounced off him and landed at my feet.

All we could do was to stare at it. What else could we do, really? It was a flying slipper, of all things.

And that was when the second slipper hit me in the head.

"What the-"

"_Mother of fuck, we're being attacked by footwear!"_ Silas squeaked, narrowing his eyes. _"Trainer, on the ready!"_

"Keep your motherfucking voices down!" shrieked one of the neighbours, causing the two of us to very nearly jump out of our skins. "And mind your fucking language, you dastardly hooligans!"

Dumbfounded, we sat there for a while, just staring at the pair of slippers lying on the porch. A bird chirped. Then a little gust of wind blew past. And then, an armoured van drove past the house, startling us out of our little daze.

I got up, and shook my head to clear my thoughts a little. "That was... unexpected."

"_Damned right it was,"_ Silas chirped. _"That old lady is bonkers! Completely off her fucking rocker both literally and figuratively speaking."_

"Didn't need to know that," I replied, looking up at my parents' bedroom window. "Anyway, I'm going to try and get Amy to open a window for us, alright? Just sit there and be quiet for a bit."

Walking onto the driveway, I picked up a few small pebbles, and headed back towards the house. Choosing the smallest pebble, I took aim at the window, and threw the pebble. It hit the window with a sharp sound, and I waited to see if Amy would come to investigate it. After a few minutes without her appearance, I threw the second pebble, with similar results.

"_Trainer?"_ Silas called out from where he sat, at the porch. _"Aren't you forgetting something?"_

"What?" I asked him, wondering what he was going on about this time.

"_Snakes are deaf, aren't they? Or at least, only able to detect vibrations?"_ he said, looking at me with wide eyes.

For a brief moment, I just looked at him, before letting out a groan of disbelief and smacking myself in the forehead. Most unfortunately, I did that with the hand which was holding the remaining pebbles.

Later, Silas would claim that the outburst of vulgar language and stomping around that followed the smack was probably the most colourful display I'd ever put on in his presence. He also told me to get some anger management, and I did wonder if that suggestion had some merit – just _why_ I flipped out that much puzzled me, really.

That claim of his was probably true to some extent, since the old lady next door did throw two pairs of slippers at me as I raged in the garden for my forgetting that Amy was effectively deaf. And she even threatened to call the local MP's over to detain me, though how she knew I was a military man was beyond me.

Well, at least my little raging spell made enough of a commotion to alert Amy to our presence, anyway. It didn't take long for her to unlock and open one of the living room's windows, and before you could say 'lockout', Silas and I were back in the house.

The old lady's slippers ended up being taken care of, too. I put them away in a safe place, really – for her sake, though, I hoped that the garbage collectors would decide to picket sometime within the next twenty-four hours.

xxx

According to Amy, Dad had been let out of the office early for once, and had decided to take Mom for a movie. Bruiser was out at the park, feeding the birds for some odd reason, and supposedly, Allan was having a little fun harassing the children who were playing there. Amy claimed that he'd taken to preying on the fears of random children since I'd left the house, and that no one had actually managed to track him down as the culprit of the sudden outbreak of nightmares in the neighbourhood, yet.

She didn't forget to mention that Mom had made some lasagna for us, and that I was to heat it up for dinner. That piece of news was delivered rather gravely, since I was the only person in the house who possessed the manipulatory appendages necessary to operate the oven.

"_So, you've been a busy guy, it seems,"_ Amy hissed, as she sat with us on the sofa, watching some television. _"Bruiser keeps telling me that you've been promoted."_

I pressed the side of my face against the side of her head, and said, "Bruiser's a horrible one with the facts. I turned down the promotion, Amy."

"_Trainer, why are you talking to a snake?"_ Silas asked me, flicking his tongue in her direction. _"She's deaf!"_

"Bone conduction, Silas. Vibrations from speech or something like that," I replied, as Amy turned her head to get a better look at him. "Ah, I don't think you two have been properly introduced. Silas, meet Amy. Amy, meet Silas."

"_Delighted to meet you,"_ she hissed, uncoiling slightly and lowering her head to look Silas in the eyes. _"Hello, Silas."_

"_Seeing you cuddling with my trainer like that is more than just a little creepy, I'll have you know," _Silas whistled, though his voice shook a little.

"_If he wants to speak to me, he has no choice,"_ Amy replied, flicking her tongue in and out, looking suspiciously like she was going to strike and swallow Silas whole. _"I don't have outer ears, alas."_

He visibly flinched as she continued to lock gazes with him, and I belatedly remembered the effect of an arbok's glare. "Umm, Amy, please don't do that to him. I am actually somewhat attached to the little bastard."

"_Bastard?"_ he huffed, as he broke out of the spell Amy's gaze had put him under. _"Really, Trainer, you wound me."_

Amy made a rippling motion with her body that I'd long ago learned was her equivalent of a shrug, before turning her attention back to the television set. _"Pardon the glare thing. It happens almost... unconsciously, for me. It was one of your mother's favourite ways to keep Bruiser and Allan under control, it was."_

"Amy, Amy. Tormenting others is Allan's job."

She didn't bother with an answer for that one, and very frankly, I wasn't fussed. While Amy and I had never been as chummy as I was with Bruiser, she was still mostly civil with me. When I was growing up, she'd never objected to me having a nap in her coils, though she would later admit that she'd had to fight the urge to poison, crush, and eat me more than just the one time.

Come to think of it, I probably had a pretty unusual childhood.

And for the record, Allan's antics at the park were rather unsettling for me – the bugger seemed to have developed urges to molest children mentally, it seemed.

xxx

Dinner came and went, and before we knew it, it was midnight in Jubilife. In just a matter of hours, I would be making my merry way back to Canalave, where things would undoubtedly be getting considerably interesting, what with the first batch of newly-licensed pokemon trainers coming in for their evaluations.

Silas was contentedly snoozing in a bucket of water by my bedside, but I just couldn't sleep. As much as I'd initially hated to return to Jubilife, the past two days had been oddly... soothing, for lack of a better word. Sort of like confronting my old ghosts, really; and it was quite literally as such in Allan's case.

Out of the corner of my field of vision, a dull red glow materialised next to the closet. Speak or think of the devil, and he would appear, it seemed.

I sighed. "Allan, fuck off."

Sure enough, the ragged mismagius emerged out of the shadows, his eyes looking surprisingly glassy. Briefly, I wondered if he had gotten high by his own means, or perhaps just finished with gorging himself on some hapless soul's nightmares.

"_Such manners,"_ he murmured, as he floated up to my bed, eventually settling down right next to my shoulders. _"Couldn't sleep?"_

"In this house, sleeping's a risk, with things like you lingering about," I replied, sitting up in bed and narrowing my eyes at him. "What do you want, Allan?"

He twirled his ribbon-like body about innocently. _"Just to have a little chat, really. You're a bad liar, you are."_

"Fuck that."

"_Hah!"_ he sneered, even as the red beads on his neck began to sparkle menacingly. _"I might not have disturbed your beauty sleep last night, but really... you've got some interesting thoughts in your mind."_

At that point in time, I was really hoping that he'd be fully corporeal. Then, I'd be able to strangle him, the bastard. "You little-"

He cut me off, _"What you do in your own time is your own business, idiot. I'm just here for... in representing my trainer's best interests."_

That sentence made my head ache, it did. "Allan, what is it now?"

Allan flicked his red eyes towards the window. _"I know about what you were planning to do with your commanding officer over at Canalave. And also that Silas is your little accomplice. But, like I said, what you do in your own time is your own business._

"_But, on the other hand, I am genuinely fond of my trainer, who happens to also be your mother. So I'm going to have to ask you to stop your shenanigans over at Canalave."_

My fingers were itching with the urge to brutally murder him, corporeal or not. "I've got a better idea; why don't you mind your own fucking business, Allan?"

"_Not when my trainer's well-being is possibly involved,"_ he scoffed, giving me an angry glare. _"Have you ever stopped to think about what might happen to her if you were caught with a plot for the untimely disposal of your superior?"_

"I'm not planning to kill him, you idiot!" I snarled, swatting at him with my left hand. As expected, my hand went right through him, feeling unnaturally cold as it did so.

"_Disposal doesn't always involve death, you twit! And keep it down, would you?"_ Allan said icily, as he levitated off my bed. _"Wouldn't want to wake the household up now, would we?_

"_Getting back on to the matter at hand, now... assuming you were caught, don't you think they'd throw you in prison at the very least? Or perhaps even execute you, given that you're actually holding a respectable rank in the navy."_

A headache was starting somewhere behind my eyes; I could feel it. "They'd try and punish me for sure, but it's not punishable by death. Believe me, I've checked."

Allan floated out to the middle of the room. _"Come with me for a while, would you?"_

"Glad to hear that you're willing to drop the subject," I sighed with some relief. "And who in their right mind would follow _you_ anywhere at this time of day?"

"_Just come with me to the den, and hopefully I'll be able to get some sense into that brainless head of yours,"_ he said, as he made the door open itself to allow himself out of the room. _"Seriously, you damned kids will be the death of me..."_

"That'll be a welcome change," I muttered, as I sat there in bed for a while, wondering if I should actually go along with his demands, if only to shut him up. After some thought on the matter, I got up and walked out of the room. Either way, it was probably going to be the last night I ever spent in Jubilife.

The house was dark, of course. And silent, which made it feel almost eerie as I made my way towards the stairs. I took a brief look around me to ensure that Allan was going to attempt to ambush me, and walked down the stairs. As usual, the third stair from the bottom creaked when I stepped on it.

For some reason, that sound, normally so easily ignored, felt harsh and out of place in the darkness just then.

It was just a matter of passing through a doorway to get to the den, and sure enough, Allan was already there. There was a large book on the table, and the doors of the little wooden cabinet next to the television set were open. Clearly, he had taken the book from somewhere within the cabinet, but just what did the book contain? I certainly didn't recall such a book being in the house before.

"_Finally, you came,"_ Allan said, sounding oddly downbeat. _"Here, take a look at this."_

"What is it?" I asked, as I switched on the den's lights. When they came on, I saw the label on the book's front cover, and stopped in my tracks. "Allan, is this some kind of a sick joke?"

"_It isn't!"_ he snapped. _"Just read the fucking book, alright? And then I'll leave you to rot or whatever it is that you're so set on doing once you get out of here in the morning."_

Sparing a moment to cast a disdainful look in his general direction, I sat down, and opened the photo album. As soon as I saw the first picture, I froze and felt a wave of nostalgia washing over me. It felt as if time had stopped and jumped backwards, back to a time when things were more certain than they were currently. When life was much simpler and all I needed to worry about was getting my work done.

Somehow, my mother had managed to get a copy of the picture showing me with the guys from my barracks, from my training days at the Coronet base camp. Usually, such pictures were limited in circulation to the local military newsletters, where they represented each new batch of recruits.

A pang of guilt made itself known somewhere in my mind as I realised just what Mom had probably been doing to occupy her spare time since I'd run away from home. Flipping the pages of the album merely provided more proof of what seemed to be Mom's latest hobby.

She must have subscribed to the military newsletters, since there were cuttings here and there amidst the photographs. There was the news about my incident with the goldeen, and there was the news about my affinity testing. And then, there was a picture of a group of soldiers standing at the Coronet train station, all ready to depart; one of them was me, and that picture was from the day I'd first set foot in Canalave.

For a moment, I wondered about just how much detail there actually was in the newsletters. I myself rarely read it, but it sure seemed that Mom had been reading them. And she had been doing so quite religiously, at that.

"_Do you see now?"_ Allan asked me quietly, as he came closer to me. _"You running away from this place sucked for her, definitely. But if there's one thing she is now, it's proud of her son and what he's achieved on his own._

"_Really, you should hear her go on about your little antics out there. How do you think that old cunt next door knew that you were a soldier? Nice move with the slippers, by the way."_

All I could do was nod mutely, as I continued to flip back and forth through the album's pages. Nothing much, really, given that my military career was still short-lived as it was. But the fact that Mom had taken the trouble to collect those materials for her album still made me think a little.

"All right, Allan," I spoke up softly, to the point that he jumped slightly upon hearing me raise my voice a little. "I'll stop the schemes back at Canalave."

He gave me an uncharacteristically hopeful look. _"Will you, really?"_

"I will," I nodded, as memories of that night at the milotic's lagoon flashed through my mind. "Believe me when I say that I've got bigger things to worry about now than Zachary Harding being a corrupt bastard."

"_Like him trying to kill you in an isolated lagoon?"_ Allan offered, sounding mildly amused.

"Damn it, Allan! Just how much do you know?" I narrowed my eyes at him. "That was private and confidential!"

He telekinetically took the album from me, and snapped it shut, before sending it flying back into the cabinet. _"I know more than you, for sure. Bet you didn't know that Benedict the gardevoir's got a psychic trace on you, did you?"_

Upon hearing those words, my mind was all but petrified for a moment, before it went into hyperdrive. "Wait, a psychic trace? How would he have registered... damn it, was it the hug when I first went to Sootopolis?"

Allan seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. _"No, it was his farewell handshake. He sealed the trace then."_

I frowned. "So now General Harding's got a way to constantly monitor my whereabouts. But given that Ben's in Sootopolis, I doubt he'll be checking on me that frequently."

"_He's a strong psychic,"_ Allan said, sounding a tad miffed. _"Trust me when I tell you that that's one gardevoir you wouldn't want to mess with. Their whole species is fucked up enough with all that human fetish stuff going on – gallade even more so, given that only male kirlia can evolve into them - but he's a distinctly scary one, somehow."_

Really, right at that moment I didn't know if I wanted to laugh, cry, or just end up stoned out of sheer disbelief. Here I was, talking to the sadistic ghost who'd haunted me in my childhood, talking about the sexual preferences of gardevoir and gallade, of all things. Granted, he'd been doing most of the talking for that part, but still!

"_I just don't want my trainer to get heartbroken, is all,"_ he said, as he landed on the den's table. _"You... you can appreciate that much, can't you? As a boy... no, as a young man, could you promise me that you won't do anything of that nature?"_

I leaned back and sank into the sofa, feeling a strange sense of hollowness in my chest. It almost felt as if I was a deflating drifblim, or something like that. "Alright, Allan - no more of the great anti-Harding plot."

We sat there in silence for a while, just listening to the distant sounds from Jubilife's city center. Truly, Jubilife was a city that never slept, despite the curfew imposed after the terrorist attacks. People went on working at night, and slept in the day; the terrorist attacks merely sealed their fate as creatures of the night. At least they knew what they wanted to do, or were supposed to do.

"Coffee, Allan?" I asked the mismagius, who looked as if he was starting to doze off on the table.

"_Umm... what did you say?"_

"I can't sleep, Allan," I said, even as a yawn made its way out of me – where it came from, I have no idea. "So... I thought of making a cup of coffee for the two of us?"

"_Why not?"_ he replied, lifting off the table and shaking his cloth-like body about_. "Nothing like some man-to-man talk in the dead of the night, eh?"_

I left the den and headed to the kitchen, nearly tripping over my feet as Allan called out after me.

"_Hey, kid!"_

"What now?" I asked him, turning around and straightening the den cabinet, which I had bumped a little out of alignment when I was trying to not fall flat on my face.

"_Thanks."_

xxx

Morning came, and not long after that, I left Jubilife for Canalave. I managed to sit down for a small farewell breakfast at home with the family – well, it was a Sunday morning, after all – and even Amy turned up to say goodbye to me. Bruiser nearly removed my lungs non-surgically by clapping me on the back, while Allan gave me a knowing look as I left through the front door. Briefly, I felt a faint tingle running over me as I crossed the threshold; perhaps it was him engaging a psychic trace, or maybe I was just feeling sentimental again.

All we had to do was to walk to the city center, where General Harding would pick me up. Apparently, he had spent Saturday night at the Jubilife military quarters, to allow whichever pokemon he was using for transport to rest a little. Once he picked me up, we'd board the train and head back to Canalave. If all went according to plan, we'd be back at Canalave by three in the afternoon, as far as the train tickets went.

"_Goodbye, Bruiser! Keep in touch, yes?"_ Silas chirped cheerfully from the top of my unzipped backpack, as we walked down the driveway. _"You too, Allan – give those little bastards hell!"_

"Silas, you twat! Don't encourage him to terrorise children, would you?" I said, appalled at the fact that my starter was supporting Allan's sadistic little trips into peoples' subconscious. "Would you want more people turning out like me?"

He shuddered a little. _"That... is a genuinely terrifying thought. Anyway, we need to go."_

Nodding, I turned about and waved. "Keep in touch, Mom!"

"Bye!" she called out, waving at me from the doorway, with my father and her three pokemon standing behind her.

As I turned to look, I realised just how small she looked in the doorway. Everything else looked blurry, much like the background characters and scenery in a low-budget movie. And the expression on her face looked like she was holding back a tear or several.

Right then, she just looked so _sad._

With a final wave to my folks, I turned around, and walked away.


	31. Renewal

**Chapter 30 – Renewal**

"Your attention please – the next station is Canalave City. End of the line. All passengers are to disembark."

I looked disinterestedly out of the train's windows, and saw that we were indeed about to stop at the Canalave terminal station. It couldn't have been more than a year since I first arrived at Canalave, and there it was to greet me, that same announcement as the train pulled up to the terminal. Little seemed to have changed around the place; it was still a glass-fronted building held up over the water on supports that looked much too fragile to suspend such a structure.

Of course, the digimon troops at their posts served as a very visible reminder that we had been threatened by some terrorists not too long ago. Down on the water's surface, I could see a few small boats bobbing about, apparently occupied by humans and pokemon. Several dark shadows near the boats made me wonder if there were submerged digimon in the vicinity.

As the train came to a gradual stop, I turned to wake General Harding up. Since we left Jubilife, he'd sprawled out over an entire row of seats and proceeded to have a nap. A few people and pokemon had given us dirty looks for his hogging of the seats, but all I could do was to shrug and offer a mumbled apology.

After all, the man was one hell of an incorrigible bastard when it came to matters such as this.

I gave him a few taps on the shoulder to wake him up, and turned my attention to Silas. Like General Harding, he'd decided to take a nap once we were on the train. Fortunately, he dozed off while on my lap, which spared me from the seat-hogging stigma.

"Wake up, Silas. We're back at Canalave," I said, tapping him on the shell, just as the doors slid open. "Time to get off the train, Silas."

"... Say what?" came a groggy voice from General Harding's direction. "What's this about getting off on a train with Silas?"

All I could do was to roll my eyes at him, even as I got out of my seat and recalled my awakening shellder into his pokeball. "Nice to see you too, sir. And yes, we were being grossly inappropriate on a train."

General Harding stood up and grabbed his bag, stretching as he did so. "Whatever, kiddo. I highly suspect that this is all Ben's fault, you know? What with his species and their human fetish, stuff like that."

Briefly, I felt a chill settling down over me as I remembered the midnight conversation I'd had with Allan in the den. Quickly shaking my head to clear my thoughts a little, I slung my backpack over my shoulder, and headed for the door. "If you say so, sir."

"Ah, it's good to be back here again!" my boss declared happily, as he practically pranced out onto the platform. "Not as nice as Sootopolis, of course, but it's by the sea, and that's what counts, right?"

I nodded to his back, wondering how he'd suddenly become so energetic when just minutes ago, he had been snoozing like a snorlax. "I'm sure you'll make do."

"Damned straight I will," he said, as we headed towards the immigration checkpoint. "Now, keep an eye out for our ride. It most probably resembles a military jeep."

That little bit of information made me hesitate for a moment. "Wait, we aren't going back with Aunty Moira, are we?"

"Of course not!" General Harding huffed, as he handed his identification to an immigration officer. "That woman's as mad as a stoned smeargle, she is! We're going back with Fen."

Somehow, I had a bad feeling about the whole situation at hand.

xxx

"HOLY FUCK!"

General Harding and I almost screamed like a pair of schoolgirls as General Fen went around a corner at what felt like the fifth gear. As it turned out, he was worse than even Aunty Moira behind the wheel, despite his docile demeanor – maybe it was something to do with the steel department.

"Can it, you two!" said Asian general snapped, as he swerved to avoid running over a mushroomon on the sidewalk. "Can't you see I'm trying to drive?"

"_Exactly!"_ his mawile screeched from the passenger seat, as it held on tight to the headrest with its jaw-like horns. _"Trainer's driving is horrible enough without the drama!"_

"Bite your tongue, Bruce!"

"_Bite me!"_

"Fen, you're a god-damned maniac!" groaned General Harding, as we bounced over a speed bump like a beer can off a frat boy's forehead. "When you said you'd gotten your license back, I thought you'd improved!"

General Fen snorted disdainfully at that and floored the brakes, bringing us to a dead stop and jerking everyone forwards right in front of the port control guard post. The passenger seat's headrest got ripped cleanly off as Bruce the mawile got thrown into the windscreen, and my backpack flew right out of the jeep.

Seriously, that was even more messed up than Aunty Moira's driving could have _ever_ been.

My commanding officer threw the door open and jumped out of the jeep, landing on the pavement in a heap. Even as some pedestrians and port control personnel gave him odd looks for doing so, he proceeded to prostrate himself on the ground, almost as if he was praying to some pagan deity.

"Sir, don't you think this is a little dramatic?" I asked him, nudging him with my foot as I picked up my backpack from where it had landed on the sidewalk.

"That was some pretty horrible driving, it was," he retorted, as he got up and brushed off his pants. "Fen, do me a favour and never let me get in any car that you're driving, will you? I'm hoping to live to a ripe old age."

"Oh, shut up, will you?" General Fen responded, as he handed the jeep's keys to one of the port control sentries. "I got us all here, didn't I? And you don't hear Bruce complaining."

_"That's because I'm trying to get all that seat padding out of my horns, you twit!"_ snapped the mawile, as his horns moved about like a living pair of pliers. _"You're brushing them down tonight!"_

"Says who?" sniffed the bespectacled steel specialist, as he glared at his starter. "Get Anubis to do it."

General Harding grabbed my upper arm and practically hauled me away from the two of them. "Let's get out of here, kid, before those two get into a massive brawl."

I could only stare at him out of disbelief. "A human against a _mawile?_"

"Eh, Fen's got some nasty moves on him," he said dismissively.

As if on cue, there was a loud crashing sound somewhere behind us. Both of us turned to take a look, and saw that General Fen had apparently thrown Bruce into the guard post. Even as we watched, he picked up a traffic cone, and headed towards the guard post. Before he could get within a meter of it, though, a streamer of flame burst out of the window, which missed him by a hair.

"Crazy bastard," General Harding said, not without a note of amusement in his voice.

"For once, I find myself agreeing with you, sir," I muttered, wondering just how I'd ended up with this particular bunch of lunatics.

"Oi!" my boss snapped, as he clouted my across my head.

"What was that for?" I blinked like a noctowl as I rubbed the back of my head.

"Stop calling me 'sir'!"

Fen's mawile chose that moment to go stumbling across port control's compound, with a traffic cone jammed over his head. If the muffled sounds coming from under the cone were what I thought they were Bruce seemed to have an impressive command of English, as far as profanity was concerned.

Thank goodness he and Silas weren't acquainted.

xxx

Once General Harding and I had gone our separate ways – well, it was really just a matter of me walking a little further down the road – I found myself running into none other than Dolph, the don of Canalave's Underground.

"Mister Dolph?" I asked incredulously, as he waved and approached me. "What on earth are you doing topside?"

He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. "Just call me Dolph, kid. Have you seen Zachary Harding anywhere about? I've been looking for him since your train got in at the terminal."

I pointed towards his apartment. "Oh, he's back at his place. And you still haven't answered my question."

"Testy, aren't we?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "What business is it of yours if I decide to come up here?"

"If it is actually related to our... common interests, then the question is completely necessary," I shrugged. "Could save us a trip down under, can't it? Save everyone's time, really."

Dolph smirked at that, and nodded approvingly. "You're a sharp one, and you've got some balls – I can see why Zachary's so fond of you, hah! But really, I'm just looking for him to settle some... old stuff. It's nothing that you'd be involved in, so just relax and let me go without an interrogation, would you?"

"Very well, then," I nodded. "Good day to you, sir."

He shook his head upon hearing that. "My, my. Zachary was right about you being an uptight little one, eh? Don't worry, though! Someday you'll be able to call others by their first names without feeling like you ought to be punished, hah!"

With that, he turned and walked off towards General Harding's apartment. I just stood there for a while, looking at his retreating back until he rounded a corner and vanished out of my sight.

Something just didn't feel right about the whole deal, really. Dolph may have been a powerful man in the Underground, but that was really the limit of his domain; topside was under governmental control. Seeing him strolling casually down the street as if he owned the place was suspicious, to say the least.

Eventually, I gave up on trying to think of a logical reason for his presence topside, and continued walking back to my own quarters.

xxx

Several hours after our return to Canalave found me getting ready to turn in for the night, along with Silas. General Harding's week of leave had been timed quite nicely, really – we'd returned to Canalave on Sunday afternoon, giving us just enough time to get back to our respective living quarters and having a short break before the next working week began. While the seven days away from work had been refreshing in themselves, the train ride back to Canalave most certainly hadn't been.

Admittedly, that was probably because I'd been thinking about how to tell Silas about that night at the milotic lagoon.

So there we were, in my room, doing nothing but staring at the ceiling and waiting to fall asleep. Silas was more likely staring at the wall given his physical limitations, though. The two of us were rather comfortable like that, especially since there was a pleasant little breeze blowing into the room thanks to the open window. From the coolness of the air, it seemed that we had rain incoming.

After some time in the quiet, I decided to bring up my encounter with a homicidal Zachary Harding.

"So, Silas..." I hesitantly spoke up, "did Ben say anything to you before we left Sootopolis?"

He sat there silently for a while, before sticking out his tongue and flexing it thoughtfully. _"Not really, no. Should he have?"_

I sighed – well, it looked like my only easy way out of the whole situation was gone. "I need to tell you something, Silas. Something private."

"_Trainer, I don't like the sound of this,"_ Silas said warily. _"Just what did you do this time?"_

"Swear you'll keep it between us?" I asked him, trying my best to sound firm despite the nervousness that was threatening to overwhelm me.

"_What-"_

"Either swear it or forget it, Silas!" I snapped, effectively shutting him up.

When he spoke up again, he sounded distinctly uneasy. _"Oh... Well... All right, then._

"_Now, just what is this earth-shattering piece of news?"_

Exhaling once to gather my thoughts and keep them in some form of order, I blurted out the secret that Allan had so freely pried out of my mind. "General Harding tried to kill me."

Earlier, the room had been silent, but comfortably so. As soon as those words left my mouth, however, the silence felt suffocating rather than soothing. Hell, the room felt too small of a sudden, as if the walls were closing in on us.

Silas' next words were barely audible. _"What happened?"_

"We went out that night," I replied, my own voice sounding unusually calm – eerily so, almost. "It was supposed to be a surprise inspection of one of the deep sea mining facilities around the city, so we took a two-man submarine out.

"I was the one who piloted it to the facility, but he insisted on taking over for the journey back. It seems we had another stop to make – somewhere which I couldn't navigate the submarine through.

For a moment, the image of the mining facility and its blind cradily sentries flashed through my mind's eye. Those barnacle-crusted, anemone-like creatures with their sightless eyes and long, probing tentacles...

"_Trainer?"_ my starter quietly broke me out of my little trance of sorts. _"Where did he take you after that?"_

"Eh?" I briefly stared at him, only partially understanding his words. "Oh, that. Yes, well, I'm getting there, just you see.

"So he takes us right up to the edge of the volcano itself, and into some undersea caverns. He was at least right about that much, you know? I don't think I'd have been able to pilot the sub through all those caves without crashing it into some dead end. Hell, I didn't even know the way!

"And then there were the milotic."

A sharp intake of breath from Silas startled me, and my right hand reflexively shot out for my sidearm. Naturally, it wasn't far from me; hadn't been, ever since that night at the lagoon.

"_Sorry for shocking you, Trainer,"_ Silas whistled. _"But let me get this straight; you actually went to the milotic lagoon?"_

I raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh?"

"_Only a handful of people have ever been there!"_ he chirped, eyes widening. _"Some even claim that it was nothing more than an urban legend. But do go on..."_

A few blinks helped to get my train of thought back in its original direction. "Where was I, again? Ah, yes – the lagoon. So we got down and took a look at the milotic. Believe me, Silas, they were beautiful.

"And that was when I heard the safety being switched off. He got Adrienne to hold me still, and then..."

Words failed me just about then. My mouth remained open, but no sound came out of it. Feeling utterly boneless, I sagged back against my pillow, and stared at the ceiling once again. At least the pillow still felt the same right at that moment.

It took him a while to come up with something to say, but when he did speak up Silas hit the nail on the head, as he tended to do_. "I take it that our esteemed commanding officer found out about your little conspiracy?"_

"Got it in one," I sighed. "If Ben hadn't intervened, he would've had Adrienne kill me by giving me a stroke, or something. Whatever he was going to do, it would have looked like a sudden death by natural causes."

Silas let out a soft whistle upon hearing that. _"So... how exactly did Ben stop him from offing you?"_

"Ben wiped their memories. And he said that..." my voice trailed off as I recalled Ben's request. "He asked me to save him."

"_Say what?"_ Silas now sounded confused. _"Why would Ben need saving? I'm sure he's strong enough to take care of himself..."_

"He asked me to save his trainer, Silas. From what, he wouldn't say," I replied simply. "Or maybe he couldn't."

Silas huffed at that. _"What is it with those damned psychics and never talking in straightforward language?"_

"You've got me there," I shook my head. "Ben did seem really upset about the whole thing, though. And if Allan was telling the truth, he even took the trouble to put a trace on me before we left."

"_Wait a minute, you mean our boss now has a means of constantly monitoring our every move?"_ Silas narrowed his eyes. _"That's definitely something dangerous, given the situation."_

I sighed, and ran a hand through my hair. "Tell me about it. At least the trace is on me, and doesn't extent to you."

"_At least that's something I could be thankful for, I suppose. Psychics generally tend to creep me out, anyway."_

At that, we settled down into silence once again. This time, the silence wasn't the choking type that had lingered earlier; it felt more like the sluggish thoughtfulness of a lazy afternoon.

Maybe it was because I had finally gotten that little episode off my chest, so to speak. Or maybe it was because Silas had taken the news rather well. Whatever it was, I felt... a strange sense of peaceful resignation coming over me. It really had this... feel to it, quite like the feeling you'd get when you were sleep-deprived and yet happy as a muk in raw sewage.

It wasn't long, though, before the two of us found ourselves being jolted out of our thoughts by the pattering sound of raindrops. We turned, nearly as one, to take a look at the window, and sure enough there was a cheerful little drizzle starting out there.

"Nice timing on the rain, huh?" I said absently, as I gave Silas a shell-rubbing. "Goes with the mood of the whole damn, fucked up situation."

"_Well, you _did_ bring this on yourself,"_ Silas pointed out. _"But... for what it's worth, I appreciate it."_

"Eh?"

He let out a low whistle. _"You trusted me enough to bring it up, Trainer. And I guess... For that, you have my respect."_

I didn't know what to say in response to that, so I did the next best thing; just keeping quiet.

Some raindrops blew in through the window as a gust went through the rain, giving us an impromptu shower. I just continued to lie there, with Silas on my stomach and one of my arms draped over him.

After a while, Silas spoke up once again. _"This may sound like a whole load of mushy bullshit and all that, Trainer, but... I'm glad that you of all people became my trainer."_

Those words, spoken out of nowhere, hit me like a truck. All I could do was to sit up slightly and gape at my starter, even as my eyes started to feel suspiciously moist.

"What? I tried to boil you!" I reminded him.

He flicked his tongue about. _"Well, you did what you thought was necessary. I know I'm not the easiest pokemon to be around, so... you've done alright, so far."_

"Silas, I..." I swallowed hard, finding myself speechless once again.

"_It's alright, Trainer,"_ he said, sounding uncharacteristically downbeat. _"Let's just... put this all behind us, can we? You said that Ben wiped their memories, and that he himself didn't know what his trainer needed saving from, right? Fuck them, fuck the prophecies, and fuck all this conspiracy crap."_

He paused for a few moments, and when he had his last word, it sounded heart-wrenchingly desperate. _"Please."_

I blinked, feeling a tear make its way down my cheek as I looked at him. Silas looked utterly miserable – well, as miserable as a shellfish could look. His eyes seemed wetter than usual, and he had even retracted his entire tongue back into his shell.

Somehow, I managed to give him a nod. And when he stuck his tongue out to give me his equivalent of a handshake, I felt like it was the first time I'd ever had a sincere conversation with him.

It took a few minutes for my thoughts to clear, but when they did, I decided that what I- no, _we_ needed right then was get out of that damned room.

"Let's go for a walk, Silas," I said, as I lifted him off my body and sat upright. "I don't know about you, but I need some air."

He gave me a surprised look_. "In case you haven't noticed, it's raining. Or have you gone soft in the head thanks to all that mushy stuff?"_

"Fuck that," I sniffed. "You're a water-type, and I'm adapted to water. Are you going to come or not?"

He let out a soft trilling sound. _"Oh, fine. Could you at least put on a shirt, then?"_

I shrugged, as I shut the window. "Pants are fine - who's going to complain, really? I don't think anyone's going to be out there aside from me, anyway."

"_You shameless bastard."_

All it took was thirty seconds for me to grab my keys and leave the room, holding Silas in my arms. The next minute of walking got us to the stairs, and three flights later, there we were on the roof, getting thoroughly soaked.

"Lovely night, isn't it?" I asked Silas, as I sat down next to the edge of the roof.

"_That it is,"_ he agreed, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the rain. _"I can see the city lights!"_

I took a look, and saw that he was speaking the truth – Canalave's night lights were just visible through the curtain of rain that was coming down over the city. Out in the canal's general direction, I thought I saw the lights of a docked ship, but really, I couldn't be sure. All I knew was that the rain-blurred landscape just looked... timeless.

Somewhere in the distance, a foghorn was blown, echoing through the wet night. The lights which I had earlier thought to be from a ship moved after that, confirming they were indeed from a ship. We watched them moving sideways, and gradually became indistinct as the ship moved out of the harbour.

"_You were right, Trainer,"_ my partner said, from where he lay, next to me. _"It does feel nice, being out here."_

"The rain doesn't remember anything, does it?" I asked in reply, as I revelled in the feeling of being in the rain. "It... has no memory."

And so we just sat there, two guys on a rooftop, enjoying the feeling of just being drenched in the rain. Right then, all that seemed to matter was the feeling of being there, of being happy, and just being free.

Thunder rumbled overhead as we basked in the rain.

xxx

"_... Trainer?"_

I was all but asleep by then – a quick shower after the rain had apparently signalled my brain to shut down for the day – but I somehow found the energy and coherence of thought to respond to Silas.

"Uh... Say what?"

As I groggily opened my eyes and quickly glanced about, I saw that he was still very much awake, and that the rain had stopped. Moonlight was shining in through the window and reflecting off his eyes.

"_We'll make it there, someday,"_ he said, as he nudged my side with his shell. _"Wherever we have to go, however long it takes... we'll make it together."_

"What the..." I yawned. "And this couldn't wait till morning?"

Silas chirped. _"I'm willing to promise to follow you on whatever path you choose, but... could you promise me that you'll take care of yourself?"_

"... I promise."

He let out a soft whistle. _"It's nice to finally meet you, Trainer."_

"It's nice to finally meet you too, Silas."

For the first time in what felt like ages, I slept.


	32. Seeds

**Chapter 31 – Seeds**

Time flies when you're having fun, or so the saying goes. _Tempus fugit_ and all that good shit. But for me, time seemed to go by faster once I decided to put my past actions behind me, and just go on with life at port control. Maybe the past is the equivalent of that cartoonish boot to your behind that sends you flying over the horizon. You know, just like those spring-loaded ass kickers people hide in sofa sets.

General Harding wasn't a bad man once I forced myself to ignore the fact that I'd more or less attempted to get him on trial for murder. Granted, he had tried to kill me when he found out initially, but thanks to a certain gardevoir, that was quite literally a thing of the past. Presently, he seemed to be back to his usual antics, which included – but were not limited to – strip video gaming during lunch hour with his two good friends, trips to the Underground for illegal pokemon battles, sparring with Don down at the training rooms, and sleeping around like a wanton harlot.

Seriously, how he managed to avoid all the sexually-transmitted diseases there were out there remained a mystery to me - the man never did seem to carry any rubbers around.

As for Silas and I, we seemed to be getting along better than we used to.

The two of us had been spending more time together, and there were even days when I found myself forgetting to take his pokeball to the office with me. Silas now tended to get a ride to work on my head, thanks to one of the dock's more inventive mechanics and a discarded hard hat. Of course, it _did_ take a little getting used to, having people staring at you for having a shellder strapped to the top of your head.

Port control's exercise facilities also ended up as one of our frequent hangouts. When we found out that the pool at the water pokemon vault down in the basement had a set of motors that could induce an artificial current, we started exercising together on a near-daily basis. It was fun, trying to keep pace against gradually strengthening water currents.

For the record, I am the faster swimmer because I can actually swim, and not merely because I have legs. Silas is just having a bad case of sour grapes when he claims otherwise.

xxx

"_That was some tasty soup, Trainer,"_ Bruiser said, even as he used a slice of bread to wipe up the last of the soup from his bowl. _"I swear, it gets better every time I taste it."_

Mom just smiled and picked up his empty bowl as she headed to the sink. "You're too kind, dear. Although since the other two men in the house say nothing at all, I suppose it balances things out."

"_I say plenty!"_ protested Allan from his hiding place in the shadows under the kitchen sink.

"You're just about past the middle of your teenage years," Dad pointed out, as he contemplated a crossword puzzle.

"_Are you questioning my masculinity? I'll have you know that for a mismagius, I am considered to be very manly indeed!"_

Silas and I watched them go about their daily routine with some amusement; Friday night dinners at home with my folks had become part of our weekly timetable since we had that little holiday courtesy of General Harding. After work on Fridays, we'd hop on the train, get to Jubilife by eighty thirty, have dinner, have some time with the family, and head back to Canalave on the eleven o' clock train.

Watching the night lights go by as the train moved back to Canalave never seemed to grow dull.

xxx

When Arukenimon, Mummymon, and their counterparts had arrived on Earth in the wake of those terrorist attacks just about eighteen months ago, the first thing they'd done was to throw up massive energy fields that suppressed teleportation across long distances. Add in the fact that considerable battalions of digimon troops had also shipped in with them, and there you had it – no one could go travelling over long distances without getting inspected thoroughly by a team of digimon agents.

However, that wasn't to say that short-range teleportation wasn't functional. And of course, when the majority of Earth's digimon population vanished into their sleeping facilities for the night – thanks to them needing periodic exposure to that radiation which our sun seemed to lack – the energy fields which jammed teleportation curiously ended up becoming rather easy to slip through. It was almost as if the fields were set to open up little pores in the middle of the night, really.

If you asked the group of nocturnal digimon – phantomon, darkrizamon, witchmon, and vilemon - why this happened, though, they would blame it all on the fields being solar-powered.

And that is how Silas and I managed to bypass all those night patrols on the streets.

Why would we be teleporting about at night, you might ask? Well, putting it politely, we were getting pretty damn drunk about thrice a week thanks to a combination of teleporting and alcohol. Diz's place was practically our second home some nights and Silas eventually got so good at teleporting that he could get us back to my bed without a hitch.

That incident with the exploding toilet was a freak accident, really. Who would've known that the teleportation-jamming field could misdirect people and pokemon in transit, really?

And if you happen to see that video of me crawling about like a demented slug on the floor outside my room sans my shirt, kindly delete it.

xxx

"_Remind me why we enjoy doing this, again?"_ Silas groaned, as we woke up to the ringing of my alarm clock. It might have been set to ring every morning at six, but on the mornings after we'd gone drinking, it always seemed to ring way too early for comfort. _"I feel like a thousand farts are trapped inside my shell."_

"Well..." I shut off the alarm clock and groped about for the tube of eye drops that I kept for mornings such as this one. "Probably because we enjoy giving our livers a workout? Damn it, where are those drops?"

Silas whistled. _"I'm now wondering if I even have a liver to begin with. And you last kept the drops in your footlocker, I think."_

"Thanks, Silas," I threw open my footlocker, and sure enough, there lay the little bottle of eye drops. Five seconds and four drops later saw my eyes getting a tad wetter, as well as a little less bloodshot.

"_Let's not go drinking again, Trainer. My head hurts,"_ muttered my starter, as he stuck his tongue out dejectedly on the bed.

"The liver thing, I wasn't sure about, but you definitely lack a head," I said, as I put on my uniform.

He blew a raspberry at me. _"I lack a specifically defined head, but you get the point! I never want to see that much rum ever again!"_

All I could do was smirk, knowing how he'd respond to my next words. "I take it you won't be joining me for a couple of Screwdrivers tomorrow night?"

"_You're paying."_

Gotcha, Silas.

xxx

"- and there she goes!" screamed the commentator, as the electivire just about beat the living daylights out of General Maine's aggron. "Sweet Arceus, that must hurt like a bitch... for the electivire's fists, that is!"

The aggron roared in agony as the electivire pummelled it with fists that appeared to be glowing with a hot red light. Smoke was coming off the dents left in its metal-rich scales by the furious electric-type's relentless assault, and it seemed that the electivire's Fire Punches were making some serious headway. The audience was going absolutely crazy, since everyone knew that _something_ would eventually give way.

Finally, there was a deafening sound not unlike a gong being struck, and the arena was temporarily obscured by a terrific explosion. Sand from the arena floor was stirred up into a surging sandstorm within the ring, and the overhead lights swayed about dangerously at the end of their cables. The transparisteel safety barriers rattled in the frames as the Metal Burst reflected the stored energy from the electivire's attacks against it, and the fuzzy yellow pokemon in question was thrown bodily against the barriers by the sheer force of the attack. It fell to the ground in a heap, and didn't get up.

"Holy shit, that Metal Burst was some heavy stuff!" exclaimed our friend the commentator, even as Moira Hew's friend recalled her unconscious electivire and General Maine hugged his aggron on the battlefield. "Learn a lesson, people – always knock out an aggron with one hit, since a wounded one kicks ass that much harder!"

"Place your bets for the next round, gentles!" boomed the chief bookkeeper once the commentator was done. "We have Chris Connor coming right up, and you know what he can do!"

And that was an account of the pokemon battle, as much as Silas recalls it. I wasn't there, since I had been... distracted during the match. Suffice to say that my pokemon enjoyed the battling ring, while I enjoyed an entirely different sort of ring altogether.

Nights spent at the Underground were always fun, yes they were.

xxx

After a few inevitable delays, the big day finally came. Certainly, the inevitability of the delays was questionable at best, but things managed to come together, nonetheless. And this big day was none other than the day when pokemon training was officially reinstated.

General Harding and I were responsible for processing the training applicants from Canalave, and so we found ourselves being given a temporary office on the ground floor of port control, where the processing was to occur. Several other staff members involved in the processing were also there such as Dr. Esther and two of her subordinates - from pathology, of all departments – one of Babamon's assistants from the vaults, and Castor the whimsicott.

The processing 'office' itself consisted of little more than a large conference room which had been divided into several sections by collapsible screens. All applicants would first be sent through registration, which was handled by a human soldier, several digimon grunts, and Castor. They would then be put through the medical section where the doctors got to examine them; no one would tell them that part of the examination procedure involved using a mild anaesthetic to knock them out for three minutes and quietly implanting a subcutaneous tracking chip in their forearms, though.

Once the doctors were done with them, they would be sent to General Harding and yours truly. We were tasked with running the affinity tests, and so Babamon's assistant was placed with us to summon whichever pokemon suited the applicant up from the vaults. A temporary system of vacuum tubes had been set up along the stairwell to transport archive files and pokeballs, so we were set.

That was what we thought, but of course, something had to go wrong. Namely, things went wrong as soon as the first newbie trainer walked in through the front doors.

New government policies on pokemon training dictated that the first batch of trainers was to consist of former trainers and newbies in a three-to-one ratio. So, while we had little problems with regard to the old hands who wanted to have a second try at travelling and training, some of the newer ones were problematic.

The first newcomer decided to start wailing and bawling as soon as she'd stepped through the main doors, for some strange reason. This certainly kept us all busy for a while, since well... the rulebook hadn't accounted for that. We had raised the starting age to thirteen years of age, and yet there we were, with a girl who was either possessed or a cry-baby.

Fortunately, one of the pathologists working with Dr. Esther dealt with her quickly and quietly. The doctor merely strolled right up to the screaming trainer, and fired a tranquiliser dart into her upper arm. Within seconds, she was little more than a drooling heap on the floor, and the pathologist returned to his station.

I barely managed to suppress a shudder as the pathologist walked by my station. He or she certainly wasn't anywhere like those forensics experts you saw on the television, no sir. The government pathologists all dressed completely in black, from their helmets to their gown-like coats and boots. A reflective faceplate concealed their identities from everyone around them, and a compact breathing apparatus provided them with their own air supply, to prevent them from contaminating any samples they collected. It was said that their helmets contained goggles that could see through different wavelengths, and that they also had earpieces that could detect ambient signals. All in all, the pathology crews sounded more like mechanical beings than humans.

Once again, I wondered just why the higher-ups had decided to assign people from pathology to assist Dr. Esther in the processing. And not one, but two of them, at that.

"Is everything all right here?" tittered a former trainer nervously, as the unconscious girl was hauled-off to the sickbay. "Is she going to be alright?"

I shrugged, and continued to go through her file, while Silas eyeballed him for me. "No idea, sir. It says here that you own two pokemon – is that true?"

"Yes, I do," he nodded, sounding a little less nervous now that we were discussing a familiar topic, "a croconaw and a hoothoot."

"Are both of them still alive and well currently?" I continued, progressing down the form. Nearly halfway done, given that he was a former trainer and not a newcomer who needed something assigned to him.

"Yes, both are still with me. Just as pets, though."

"Planning to take them along on your travels?"

"Well, yes."

Filling in the required blanks, I then gestured to Babamon's assistant. "No need to get a partner for this one – give him a pass to the vets."

The trainer looked startled. "The vets? My pokemon aren't sick!"

"Oh, just for a preliminary health screening and paperwork, really. And not just any vets, but the government vets," I told him, as I stapled his application forms together and ran them through a scanning machine that would complete the registration process. Naturally, I didn't mention that our crew of veterinarians would do to his pokemon what the doctors had done to him not fifteen minutes ago – he and his two partners would be traceable on our scanners as long as they did not leave the continent.

"Ah, I see..." he said, sounding only slightly convinced. "Are we done, then?"

"Indeed we are," I nodded, handing him a copy of his registration papers. "Keep these, and show them to the vets when you drop by. Once you drop by, they'll do their thing and you'll be good to go within three hours of the appointment."

"Three hours?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Processing time," I said with a smile – yet another little white lie, since two hours was the minimum time taken for the satellites to lock on to a new entry in the network. "If you have no questions, have a nice day."

As he walked away from my desk, I saw General Harding giving me a smirk and a thumbs-up gesture. Adrienne was standing behind him, doing something to a new trainer – for the trainer's sake I really hoped that it was the affinity test.

With a blink and a smile, I returned the wave, ignoring the nervousness that emerged upon me seeing that smirk on my superior's face.

xxx

"Long day, wasn't it, Silas?" I sighed, as I sank into my mattress, plopping him down next to me as I did so. "One hundred new trainers, and that's just from our side."

He squeaked out a reply, sounding just as tired as I was_. "Madness, that's what it is. How many did they register on the continent, again?"_

I paused for a moment, my mind barely thinking straight enough to recall the right figure. "Five thousand, maybe? Or was it six? Either way, most of Sinnoh's major cities had a hundred, and the smaller ones had fifty at most. Lots of eager folk out there."

"_No wonder the satellite tracking system crashed just now,"_ Silas laughed. _"Tracing five thousand humans _and_ their travelling companions all at the same time? Bet you that General Reardon is still sorting out that mess back at the office."_

I couldn't help but smirk at that. Indeed, the satellite network had frozen up and crashed as soon as all the trainers' tracking implants had gone active. Apparently, the programmers who set the system up hadn't anticipated that nearly all the trainers would attempt to head out on day one, and so their tracking programs had all gone absolutely apeshit on them. General Reardon from our electric department had cursed up a storm in the comptroller offices, it seems.

"_So, Trainer,"_ Silas whistled. _"How are they going to make sure that there aren't any uprisings, or whatever? If the other four continents registered as many as Sinnoh did, that's nearly forty or even fifty thousand people on the loose with pokemon. And we're talking about trained pokemon, too."_

"Well, they've got the tracking system, or will have, once they fix it and the traffic flows smoothly," I replied, lying down and shutting my eyes. "Then there are the pokemon and digimon troops they released into the wilderness. Frankly, I don't think there are any areas around the world which aren't being monitored in some way or another, now."

After a brief pause, Silas asked a question that completely threw me. _"How could they do that? Don't their digimon troops need to sleep in their special chambers or something?"_

I opened my eyes with a start and sat up in bed, looking at him incredulously. "Wait a minute. None of us thought of that..."

"_It's highly unusual,"_ Silas quipped, _"unless of course they've started beaming their special radiation all over the planet."_

"General Harding would know about something that big, wouldn't he?" I shrugged, rubbing my eyes. Damn it, I was _tired_. "I'll ask him about it tomorrow, so can we go to sleep now? I'm about tired enough to enter a coma."

He merely blew a raspberry at that, though he was apparently tired enough such that he couldn't even retract his tongue after that. _"I somehow get the feeling that you'll be eating those words someday."_

"... Goodnight, you little bastard."

"_Goodnight, retard."_

The two of us had barely gotten a few minutes' sleep, it seemed, when the alarm sounded. I jumped out of bed and grabbed my pistol, even as Silas reflexively took out my window with an Ice Shard. Outside the window, the sky seemed to pulsing with a glowing blue light.

"What the fuck?" I snapped, as I pulled a pair of trousers on. "Is that what I think it is?"

"_Trainer, I think the teleportation fields are going down,"_ Silas said, sounding awestruck.

"How would you know?" I asked, as I hurriedly threw on a shirt and buttoned it up. "Anyway, we need to get to the nearest muster area, and fast!"

He whistled. _"Whenever we teleport, I can see a blue energy grid pulsing all over the city, which blocks our teleportation pathways. It's really like a big dome over us. And now the sky is showing a blue light with the same colour."_

I frowned. What Silas had said made perfect sense, and yet sounded completely illogical. The teleportation fields were weaker at night, and theoretically could be overwhelmed by enough pokemon attempting to break through it at the same time. But we hadn't registered that many psychics, had we?

"Hold on tight, Silas," I muttered, as I strapped him onto my modified hard hat. "We'll find out what's going on, soon enough."

Slinging the hard hat with my starter strapped to it onto my head, I grabbed my keys and rushed out of our room, just as the second alarm sounded.

Thirty seconds had passed since the first alarm, apparently.

xxx

As I ran down the stairs, I saw that many the military hostels' residents were also heading out to the muster point. We all rushed down the stairwells, keeping to the left of the stairs as we had been drilled to do in the event of an emergency. Every ten seconds or so, we'd see a demidevimon or some other small creature zooming past us on the right of the stairs, presumably heading upwards to get everyone out of their rooms. Whatever this was, it was something big.

By the time we had gotten down to the muster area at the hostel compound, the heavy artillery had already arrived. Several lampent were hovering above the compound, their flickering flames illuminating the area with a dim yellow light. Hulking swalot oozed about the perimeter, seemingly ensuring that no one got out. A few soulmon and bakemon were also floating about like rags in the wind, baring their colossal teeth at whoever that was daring enough to look them in the eyes.

"Attention, all personnel!" boomed a voice on the compound's loudspeakers. "The teleportation fields are going down! I repeat; the teleportation fields are going down! Proceed with herding operations immediately!"

There were several shocked gasps and bewildered facial expressions as the announcement was made, but our training had been thorough – we headed out to our respective stations, as we had been instructed to all those months ago when the fields had first been erected.

The streets were devoid of any wandering civilians, as befitted the time of day. However, worried people were curiously watching us as we fanned out through the streets along with pokemon and digimon troops. Up above us, the blue pulses in the sky were thinning out and becoming increasingly sporadic, indicating that the teleportation fields were probably on the verge of complete collapse.

"Check in!" called a woman with a divermon, at the street corner I was heading towards. "Station BH, oh-oh-five, secure!"

"Confirm that!" I said, as I arrived at the corner. "Any herds yet?"

She shook her head, and let out a sigh of relief. "Not yet, but you know what we'll have to do if the civilians start acting up."

I nodded, feeling slightly apprehensive. The 'herding operation' was intended to keep civilians out of the armed forces' way during emergencies, by deploying all administrative personnel to keep them in their homes or guide them to shelters while the big guns were rolled out. In this case, however, the entire teleportation field over Canalave seemed to be disintegrating, which was definitely not a scenario we had planned for.

"What time is it?" I asked my station partner, realising something.

She squinted at her watch, which was barely visible in the near-darkness. "Just about one in the morning... Why?"

Realisation struck me about then. "The trainers' curfew! That's why the fields are going down."

"_What do you..."_ Silas began, going silent as comprehension dawned. _"Just how many of them are headed here, anyway?"_

The divermon was the first among us to figure it out, croaking his answer out. "About a hundred of them would be adequate to send wobbles through the energy field. If maybe ten more hit it at the right spots, the field would be rendered unstable."

"You can't be serious," the woman groaned. "We set the city check-in curfew at one a.m. for goodness knows what purpose, and they end up collapsing the energy fields? This training business is really too much."

"_There they are!"_ gasped Silas, causing all of us to whip about and look towards the edge of the city.

Sure enough, trainers were popping into existence all over the place. Even as the energy dome broke down completely with a bright flash of blue light, more started appearing on the streets, well within the former energy field's radius. Almost immediately, swarms of lampent, bakemon, and soulmon began converging towards them, flying through the air like a stream of the undead.

"Back off, the lot of you!" shouted my female partner, as she drew her pistol and fired a warning shot. "Don't you dare touch those trainers!"

"Silas, hose them!" I ordered, catching on – the nocturnal creatures were very obviously about to carry out their bloodier orders without any second thoughts. "Icicles, too!"

Silas gladly obeyed my orders, firing a round of icicles at the hovering pokemon and digimon. When the lampent decided to come down on us for that, he switched to using water jets instead, which did a decent job of holding them back.

Just then, the first of the trainers reached us. When we got a good look at them, though, we just stood there, stunned for a moment.

Some of them had limbs that were very obviously broken, and some were covered in bloodstains. For the most part, they seemed fine, but it seemed that the teleportation field itself had done a number on them.

"Get us the medics, now!" I barked at the divermon, who nodded, and let out a piercing whistle. Within seconds, sirens could be heard in the distance as our medical units began heading towards the groups of trainers that had been trying to make it into the city before the nightly lockdown.

It was going to be a long night.

xxx

The morning after the great curfew incident was nothing less than chaotic. Dozens of trainers were injured thanks to wild pokemon attacks, battles that had gone out of control, or collisions with the energy field. Almost all of Canalave's medical personnel were occupied with treating a myriad of injuries ranging from severe bruising to broken bones, and one trainer even believed that he was a kumquat, if the rumours were true.

Naturally, Arukenimon and Mummymon were furious. Not only had their anti-teleportation field collapsed, but they had hordes of wounded trainers to deal with. The local gym leader, a retired water specialist, was also being swamped with challenges, and his team was about ready to collapse out of pure fatigue.

"This wasn't supposed to happen!" Arukenimon screeched, thumping her fist down on the dais of port control's auditorium, as she addressed us. "They weren't supposed to teleport back, the idiots! All they had to do was to check in before one a.m., and they even managed to screw that up!"

"Ma'am," said General Williams from the ground department, "Registration of known teleporters was not done as part of our processing. As I recall, you and Mummymon approved it since the fields were deemed to be strong enough to repel them."

Mummymon made a rumbling noise somewhere in his dried-out throat. "That we did, but we didn't anticipate one hundred and thirty two simultaneous teleportation attempts. So, we are now seeking your opinion on the matter."

"The curfew is reasonable," said General Fen, as he sipped his coffee. "Perhaps you'll just need to lower the field until the curfew passes?"

"Unacceptable," Arukenimon hissed. "The terrorists could go anywhere they pleased between six a.m. to one a.m., then. The fields stay up, or will stay up once we get them up again."

General Reardon spoke up grumpily. "Then issue a ban on teleporting into the city. Really, the training launch was rushed, if you ask me."

"Good point," conceded Arukenimon, "though now that you've reminded me; is the tracking system back up for our trainers, at least?"

She nodded, running a hand through her hair. "Yes, in an hour, or two at most. We'll be tracking them by nightfall, that's for sure."

"One less problem to worry about," Mummymon said, as he scrutinised a printed report. "So, onto the next item on the agenda..."

Outside the auditorium's window, the morning sky briefly glowed a brighter shade of blue, as the energy field flickered back into existence.


	33. Realisation

**Chapter 32 – Realisation**

If you thought that having over a hundred trainers inadvertently causing the anti-teleportation fields to collapse was bad, try imagining the mountain of paperwork that they created. We had insurance claims for injuries suffered by the trainers as they collided with the fields, collateral damage due to the resonating shockwaves as the energy dissipated, and even overtime claims from the programmers at port control thanks to the crashed satellites which were supposed to track the trainers and their pokemon.

And of course, there were the life insurance claims to be settled. Of the five thousand trainers we registered, seventy eight had died on day one of their training journeys. As much as wild pokemon colonies were severely diminished compared to their pre-Revolution sizes, the surviving wild pokemon out there were twice as brutal as their ancestors had been.

Those that survived wild pokemon attacks with non-fatal injuries may have been lucky souls, but that didn't make our lives any easier. The streets surrounding port control were cordoned off and covered up with tarpaulin sheets, so that we could lay out the wounded trainers for the doctors to deal with them.

"Bring those files up from the archives, faster! God damn it!"

"Claimants sign here, please... Next!"

"_I told you already, I'm not giving you any more painkillers. Now, be quiet!"_

"Someone answer that motherfucking phone!"

"Archives are swamped – Persiamon's got an hour-long backlog."

"_The programmers sent this up – where's the department head?"_

"Paging Doctor Esther, Doctor Esther to the second street."

"Son of a bitch!"

Seriously, things were in a royal mess down at port control. None of us had slept much the night before, and naturally, all of us were roped-in to deal with the aftermath of the trainers' disastrous blunder.

But then again, was it their blunder, or ours? At the moment, though, most of us were too overworked and tired to give a shit.

Silas and I – complete with our hard hat – were responsible for recording statements from the trainers who were still conscious and not drugged up. We were making slow progress, since most of them were somewhat confused by the whole series of events. It seemed that crashing into an energy barrier tended to unsettle one's thoughts a good deal.

"So you were just heading back at around a quarter to one?" I asked the trainer, as I scribbled down notes on my clipboard. "Any injuries right then?"

"None, except for that crash," she replied, wincing as one of the medics prodded at her wounded arm. "Felt like I was getting zapped all over."

"Alright, thank you," I nodded, signing off on the report and heading for the next trainer. At least that girl had been lucid enough to answer my questions audibly and coherently.

"_How many more to go, Trainer?"_ Silas asked, sounding exhausted. _"I need sleep."_

"Don't we all?" I yawned. "And to answer your earlier question... fifty five more."

"_Fuck."_

"My sentiments exactly."

We were just about to begin questioning the next trainer when there was a flash of light, and a bronzor appeared alongside a tall, squid-like creature. The mirror-like pokemon vanished again within a second, but its companion remained with us, taking in its surroundings with a pair of swollen, bloodshot eyes. Its body was slender, and seemed to be made of a mass of tentacles that had been braided together like rope. Two thin arms hung limply by its sides, and a nasty-looking gun was strapped to what passed for a waist on its stringy body. To top it all off, its head was huge – the thing looked ready to burst, and I swear I could see the grooves of its brain through the creature's pastel-coloured skin.

"You are the officer in charge of statements?" the digimon asked me, as it shuffled over on its tentacle legs.

"Currently, yes," I replied, as I tried to recall its name – fatigue was interfering with my memory. "What can I do for you?"

"The name's Vademon," it said, as it plucked my clipboard out of my hands and began reading the topmost report sheet. "Given your slow progress, I shall be taking over the statements for today."

I frowned. "I was not notified of any such orders."

"Be gone, feeble-minded boy!" Vademon snapped, even as its eyes began rolling about jerkily in their sockets. "Go find your commanding officer and get yourself something to occupy that pathetic mind of yours with."

As if on cue the wounded trainers all went silent, causing several of the personnel from port control to hesitate in whatever it was that they had been doing. Vademon's head began pulsing like a grotesquely oversized heart, and all of the trainers started mumbling gibberish.

"Hey, kid!"

I turned around, feeling a wave of relief washing over me as General Harding walked up to me, looking just as tired as everyone else. "Sir, any updates?"

"Vademon got sent over to speed up the statement taking," he said, cocking his head towards the soft-bodied digimon. "Apparently he's their best telepath, and got the job done at eight other cities already."

"Bully for him," I said, trying my best to hold in a yawn. "So, where have I been reassigned?"

"Security," he said simply. "Kylie's rotom swarms have picked up some unusual signals in the networks, so we'll be watching the communications station down at the docks."

"This day just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"You're telling me, rookie."

Silas chose that moment to start snoring, causing us to get blasted with a jet of bubbles.

xxx

Just when we'd thought that our day couldn't possibly get worse, the terrorists decided to start acting up again. No, I wasn't talking out of my ass there; they really did start their usual shenanigans again later in the evening. While their actions that evening didn't have repercussions even remotely comparable to those from the fires they'd started before, they still made us all stop in our tracks, nonetheless.

General Harding and I were at the communications station with two other guards, enjoying a box of jellybeans that he had procured from unknown sources – we could only hope that he hadn't stolen them from the doctors - when the television set starting broadcasting white noise. The news, which had been on at the time, became obscured by static, and changing the channels did nothing to improve the situation.

"The fuck's going on here?" grumbled one of the guards, as he drew his pistol and checked the safety. "More shit?"

"You bet your ass it is," drawled his partner, as he stood up and began watching the live feeds from the dock's security cameras. "Anything you see, guys?"

Silas was still snoozing on top of my head, and I didn't see anything out of the ordinary on the security footage. My commanding officer shook his head, and fished a jellybean out of the box.

"Must have been another programming crash," he said, just as the static started to clear on the television. When he – and the three of us – saw the image on the screen, he let out a groan. "Oh, you have _got_ to be fucking kidding me."

The television set was showing the image of everyone's favourite terrorist agent, Slenderman. We immediately got our weapons ready, and armed the dock's security systems. Half of our troops were already occupied with the last of the wounded trainers, and if the terrorists were to act up right then...

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Slenderman said, his words reaching us even as we frantically ran a futile status check on the communications arrays. "I am sure that you are aware of the massive cock-up which occurred yesterday when training was re-launched, so I'll get right to my point for tonight.

"We are not going to make any more demands, since it is clear that the government has finally decided to see reason and legalise pokemon training. They even let thousands of trainers out into the world just a day ago! But of course, we won't be turning ourselves in any day soon, if you know what I mean."

By then, none of us were watching the security footage or doing anything else – our eyes were glued to the television set, and our ears heard only his words.

He continued speaking, bobbing his head about as if he were listening to some music that we couldn't hear. "Tonight, we would just like to wish all the injured trainers a speedy recovery, along with any pokemon who might have been injured also. As for those who perished on their very first day of training... do allow me to pass our condolences to the families out there who lost someone.

"With that, I bid you adieu, and goodnight."

His image blurred, and within seconds, the television screen was filled with static once again. Soon enough, the static dissipated, revealing a flustered-looking news anchor whose notes seemed to have been rather vigorously rewritten.

One of the two guards in the station spoke up, "What the fuck was that all about?"

That was probably the most apt sentence to describe our thoughts at the moment. Silas somehow chose to wake up right then, and blew a raspberry at General Harding. All of us – with the exception of me, since he was strapped to my head – stared at him, even while he let out a few sleepy-sounding whistling noises.

"_Hey, folks,"_ he said, as he blew a few bubbles. _"What did I miss?"_

xxx

"_Trainer, tell me more! Slenderman appears on national television and you won't tell me anything?!"_

"Tomorrow, Silas..."

"_Come on! Just tell me what he said, would you? I'm dying of suspense here!"_

He didn't get an answer beyond any grunts or snores I might have let out.

xxx

Thankfully, things soon got sorted out with regards to training. General Reardon and her team of programmers managed to synchronise our tracking programme with the satellites within a couple of days of the great training cock-up – as people had started referring to it after Slenderman's last appearance on national television - and so the trainers were free to go about on their journeys again. Most of the injured trainers were happily off on the training routes again, and many seemed to be travelling in groups this time.

All teleport-capable pokemon were registered, and a file created in the tracking programme to monitor their locations. The extra programming in itself nearly caused the system to crash again, but luckily enough, things went considerably smoothly for the integration of the new coding.

The trainers were also briefed thoroughly on the curfew, and whether they could teleport into cities for their nightly check-ins. We definitely didn't want the energy fields going down again, that much was for certain.

For our part, General Harding and I were just relieved that all the drama was over. To celebrate, we went out and got plastered, leading to a rather embarrassing situation involving General Fen waking us up in his apartment, and finding over a dozen freshly-used condoms of questionable origin.

I seriously hoped that I hadn't slept with my boss, and Silas was so busy laughing over at the whole incident that he accidentally clamped down on his own tongue. That certainly shut him up for a while.

Yup, life settled down quickly after Slenderman's appearance. Hell, the government seemed content to let it slide, despite the fact that the terrorists had effectively gotten past our cyber security yet again.

Some of us felt a little apprehensive about the apparent lack of action against the terrorists' latest activities, and the digimons' silence on the matter only served to give the whole affair a rather discomforting feel to it. After a few days, though, things returned to their usual pace, and everyone seemed to forget about the last terrorist broadcast.

It was _que sera sera_ for the moment, apparently.

xxx

Friday night dinner at my folks' place continued the week after the training cock-up as though nothing had happened at all. Jubilife had only a few scattered trainers attempting to get in after curfew, and so my parents had been spared from the major dramatics. Allan was furious about missing the suffering that had been going on at Canalave, and Bruiser was perplexed as to how so many things could go wrong in such a short space of time.

Amy said nothing, as did Dad. Both of them continued eating dinner like they usually did.

Mom, however, decided to divert our attention towards another, less-gloomy topic. And by that, I of course am referring to my nonexistent love life. Quite obviously, my folks were blissfully unaware that I was happily and cheerfully screwing about with people who had certain hanging bits down south, and so the conversation at the dinner table certainly took a turn for the awkward.

"You know what you need?" she said, as she stirred her soup. "You need an older girlfriend."

I choked on my soup, and Allan accidentally materialised in the fridge, causing the door to pop open. Bruiser started thumping me on the back, and Silas let out a squeak that sounded halfway between mirth and horror.

"Wha-"

Mom got up and nonchalantly got herself some more soup. "Well, it's true! You're working yourself to death out there, and an older girlfriend who could take care of you would be perfect!"

"Mom, could we not talk about this right now?" I gasped, reeling a little as Bruiser gave me one last whack for good measure. "... And thanks, Bruiser. Can I have a lung transplant now?"

"What are you, twelve?" Mom snorted, as she sat down with her bowl of soup. "You're a young man of eighteen, soon to be nineteen! Don't tell me you don't have a girlfriend by now."

My brain flipped her off just about then. "I don't."

"Nonsense!" she scoffed, turning to me father. "Dear, what do you think? Does he have a girlfriend?"

Dad continued cleaning his teeth with a toothpick, and didn't so much as bat an eyelid at her question. "Nope."

"But he's getting drunk almost every weekend, according to Silas! And also being quite the man-whore, apparently. I just hope that you practice safe sex."

"_Mom!"_ I squeaked, sounding almost identical to my starter, even as Bruiser let out an indignant, _"Trainer!"_

"What?" she asked haughtily, as though she hadn't just accused her own son of being some sort of male harlot – it may have been true, but still! – as well as advising him to be safe in the bedroom. "I want to be a grandmother someday, you know? But not for some bastard kid, in the literal sense of the word."

All I could do was to stare at her, open-mouthed, while Silas laughed his shells apart. Really, that woman was horrible when it came to appropriate dinner table discussion topics.

"So, what's her name?"

I raised an eyebrow at that. "... It'll be a long time before you'll be a grandmother; that I can guarantee you."

"Eh, you're no fun," she sniffed, adjusting her glasses on her nose.

"Dear, can we not do this?" Dad finally decided to say something, it seemed.

"We are not having this discussion!" I threw my hands in the air, nearly upsetting my soup bowl in the process. "Sweet gods above..."

For a while, the kitchen was silent, save for the humming of the refrigerator.

"Make sure that she's older than you by at least a couple of years, sweetie."

"MOM!"

xxx

Later, when we were on the train and heading back to Canalave, Silas asked me a question. And yes, it was related to what my mother had been nagging me about at the dinner table. In hindsight, was probably the most important question he had ever asked me since that night when he questioned my ability to take on my superior officer through a conspiracy.

"_Trainer, will you ever settle down?"_ he had asked, as we watched the night lights go by outside the windows.

"First Mom, now you?" I sighed. "Since you know about my sex life, though... the answer's no."

Silas chirped at that. _"Why not? Don't you want to find your perfect other half, have your happy ending, and all that?"_

"As if _that_ would work out!" I scoffed. "Once my parents find out, we'll have a fun time getting disowned, and all that good shit. How's that for a happy ending?"

"_Firstly, you ran away from home, so I don't think getting disowned would be that bad on you,"_ Silas deadpanned. _"There's also the fact that you could, you know, elope?"_

"What is this, a movie?" I leaned back against the window, and closed my eyes. "You make me sound so desperate, really."

"_Well, you did screw your boss, and his best friend too by the sounds of it. Overkill, much?"_

"We were drunk!"

He squeaked, and narrowed his eyes at me. _"Given that you're an experienced queer, I'm wondering just why you were limping a little the morning after. They must have pulled a doduo on you."_

It took me a moment to recall what that phrase could have meant, as far as my extracurricular activities were concerned. When I finally understood what he meant, I couldn't help but feel a little sick, resulting in him getting smacked upside the shell. "That is plain _disgusting,_ Silas. Besides, you have no way of proving that I slept with either of them, anyway."

"_Just you wait and see, bitch," _he said, sounding supremely pleased with himself.

I couldn't help but smile as that particular train of thought ran through my mind. "We'll see, indeed."

The rest of the train ride passed in silence, and we found ourselves admiring Mount Coronet's mist-shrouded foothills as we went around them. Lighted buoys bobbed about in the sea below the tracks, and safety lights flashed periodically along the tracks themselves, reflecting prettily off the sea's choppy surface.

xxx

I guess it was somewhere around three in the morning when I woke up and realised what I needed to do next. Granted, my grand scheme for getting General Harding booted out of office was long gone, and my current position at work was quite obviously a dead end job barring the commencement of a full-scale war, but part of me still wanted to make something out of my military career. Sometime in the night after my mother and Silas had tried to browbeat me about settling down, the knowledge of how I could still do something with my career.

"Silas, wake up!" I said, not sounding groggy in the least – that was a first, given the time of the night. "Silas!"

"_What the hell?"_ he grumbled, as he opened one eye and stuck his tongue out at me. _"Are you drunk? I could've sworn we weren't drinking just now..."_

I beamed at him. "I'm going to file for a transfer."

_That_ woke him up, alright. _"What?!"_

"I need to get out of this place," I told him, feeling my excitement mounting. "Get out and see the world, something like that! And I'd be able to get away from those asshole digimon, which is a plus in all ways."

"_Ha, ha, and ha,"_ Silas muttered. _"Couldn't you have waited for working hours to be delusional? No one does those tourist gigs anymore, in case you've forgotten."_

"I could file for a transfer to the groups that monitor the trainers! You know how to teleport, so we could run surveillance on the trainers," I grinned at him. "This is incredibly awesome – I can't believe neither of us thought of it earlier."

He blew a raspberry at me. _"You do realise that your commanding officer, also known as the very lovely General Zachary Harding, will have to approve such a transfer, right?"_

Hmm, that certainly was something I'd managed to overlook. Luckily for me, he'd reminded me of it. "We'll see about that, in the morning, then. Goodnight, Silas!"

"_Crazy bastard."_

As he went back to sleep, I cast a glance out of our room's newly-repaired window, and saw that it was a cloudless night. The moon shone brightly in the sky, along with a few stars, just as it had on that night when Silas had asked me why I had been doing what I did back then.

That night, I dreamed in colour. And for once, the colours felt welcoming instead of overwhelming.

xxx

Morning seemed to come in the blink of an eye, and I was practically bouncing on my heels all the way to port control. It didn't take long for me to get up to General Harding's office with the day's paperwork, and sure enough, there he was sleeping in Linda the deckchair.

"Good morning, sir!" I happily greeted him as I placed the files on his desk. "Here's today's torture, and I'm requesting your clearance for a transfer."

"Ah, thanks," he murmured, right before sitting bolt upright on Linda as his brain caught up with my words. "Say what say when say where?"

"I'm going to apply for a transfer!" I said, a little slower this time. "If I get it, that'd mean seeing the world beyond this place, getting to know more people, living life a little. I'm sure you'd understand."

He just gave me a slack-jawed stare for a few moments, before breaking out into a massive laughing fit.

"Umm, sir?" I recoiled slightly at the sight of him laughing so hard that tears seemed to be forming in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

It took him a while to get himself calm enough to answer my question, and even then, he was clearly still amused. "Oh, I'm fine! And that's a really good one, kid!"

Oh, great – he thought I was joking. "It's not a joke, sir."

He smirked at me and opened his mouth to speak, but his expression turned thoughtful as he finally realised that I wasn't pulling his leg. "You really mean it, then."

"Yes, sir."

With a sigh, he hopped off Linda, and picked up the transfer form that I had brought in along with the paperwork, which was currently resting on top of the pile. He looked as if he was mulling over some heavy thoughts, and so I waited with baited breath for him to say something. Some wingull sounded off on the docks, and the waves continued lapping against the support beams as they always did. General Harding's office windows were open for once, and a pleasantly cool breeze blew in as I stood at his desk.

"You do understand that you were assigned to me since water affinities are rare, and since my last assistant was unfortunately killed by her tentacool, right?" he asked me, as he sat down behind his desk and held up the transfer form. "And honestly, you've been a good assistant so far."

"Thanks, sir, but I'm still hoping that you'll at least consider my request," I said, feeling some semblances of doubt. He was making sense, and that didn't bode well for my transfer application. "Frankly speaking, any competent soldier could probably do well as your assistant."

General Harding just sat behind his desk, looking me in the eyes while saying nothing. As I met his gaze, I got the distinct impression that he didn't want me to transfer out of Canalave.

For some reason or another, I just felt that his eyes looked so much _older_ as we locked gazes right then.

After what felt like a long time, he shook his head, and picked up the transfer form. "Very well, then. I'll approve the request for a transfer, but you are aware that the final call isn't mine to make right?"

"Sir?" I asked, feeling a mixture of disbelief and euphoria.

Offering me a smile, he signed the form with a flourish, and handed it to me. "Fill it in, think it over carefully, and send it upstairs if you're sure. Now, I think we've got some work to do?"

"Thank you, sir," I said, unable to stop the smile that formed on my face as I stuck the form to his whiteboard with a magnet.

It was probably one of the most genuine smiles that I had had in recent times.


	34. Blocks

**Chapter 33 – Blocks**

"Are you very sure nothing's arrived for me?"

The guy who sorted out all the mail at port control – a cadaverous man named Gulag, of all things - merely gave me a bored look and shook his head. "Nope. Nothing, nada, zilch. Now shoo off so I can sort out the rest of the mail, would you?"

Letting out an exasperated sigh, I left the mail room and headed back to the reception desk. It seemed that while General Harding had approved of my request for a transfer, the powers that be were certainly taking their sweet time to get the whole transfer process going. The other possibility was that there simply wasn't a demand for someone with a water affinity out there, but most of the people here at port control agreed that due to the affinity's rarity, getting transfers to waterside installations was supposed to be relatively easy.

"Morning, sweetie!" called Mary the receptionist, before getting a look at my disheartened expression. "I take it that the letter hasn't arrived yet?"

"And you would be right, Miss Mary," I said, stopping at her desk and leaning against it. "Does it usually take this long for transfers to get approved?"

She shook her head. "Definitely not, my boy! If there's one thing the digimon were good for, it was eliminating the bureaucratic Hell we used to call a government. Sure, we've still got a lot of paperwork to settle, but they move it along rather quickly."

"Bummer, then," I said, frowning a little. "Alright then. See you around, Miss."

"Take care of yourself and those overgrown kids, then."

As I walked up the stairs to the third floor, I realised that something was possibly amiss. If the people in charge of approving transfers were indeed as efficient as Miss Mary claimed them to be, a lack of a response for such a period of time – more than a month – probably implied a letter that was lost in transit. Should that be the case, then a quick call down to their office would straighten things out in a short while.

Instead of going up to the third floor, I continued on up to the fourth floor, which was Canalave port control's very own version of a paperwork Hell. Sure enough, when I opened the door and entered the domain of our clerks, accountants, and other office personnel, I saw that life on the fourth floor was going on as it always did; silently, frantically, and continuously. The maze of cubicles seemed empty as ever, but the soft sounds of fingers on keyboards, papers being shuffled, and even the hum of a Photostatting machine filled the air like an overhanging sense of industriousness.

I made my way to the crude, hand-written sign written on the back of an office circular that had been taped to the outside of a cubicle next to the toilets, for the benefit of visitors to the fourth floor. The sign was actually a map of sorts which gave directions to the various departments within the cubicle labyrinth, usually by specifying the number of turnings you needed to make or pass before you found what you were looking for. Squinting a little to read the absolutely atrocious handwriting on the sign, I eventually found what I was looking for, and headed to the maze's unofficial main entrance of sorts, or the gap in the walls right in front of the toilets.

Mentally cursing whoever it was that had designed those cubicles with their six-foot tall walls, I walked down the dimly-lit pathway between two cubicles, heading right towards the heart of the fourth floor, where administrative coordination took place.

xxx

It took a few tries, but I eventually found my way to the centre of the cubicles without any untoward incidents. The few staff members that I actually saw were so engrossed in their work that they probably didn't even notice me passing them, but some did give me the impression that they knew a stranger had entered their domain. Every now and then, I would come to a small clearing in the midst of the cubicles, where a water cooler, Photostatting machine, or other types of office equipment too bulky to fit in a cubicle would be found, looking somewhat as if they had been abandoned there.

And there it was, as indicated by the clear corridor surrounding the core group of cubicles; the human resources department.

Walking around the cubicles of port control's HR staff, I took a peek into each one, until I found the one which I had first visited just over a month ago, when I had put in my request for a transfer. Sure enough, he was still there, frowning at a document that was reading, even while his left hand toyed with a ballpoint pen. He was dressed in what appeared to be the same, faded blue shirt he had been wearing when I first met him, and his tie was lying in a messy ball next to his coffee mug.

"Excuse me?" I called out to the spindly-looking HR guy. "Mr. Parker?"

"It's _Peter_, you idiots! Enough with the Spider-man jokes, already," he grumbled, looking up from the document and spinning about on his chair to face me. "Oh, it's you. And what brings you to here to Hell in Canalave?"

"Could you check if the transfer request I put in about a month ago has even left the building?" I asked, causing him to look mildly curious. "It seems to have been... held up, I think."

"_That_ transfer?" he echoed, pushing his glasses up a little. "Jeez, that was ages ago. Haven't you gotten a response yet?"

"Gulag says nothing's arrived," I shook my head, as I leaned against the side of his cubicle.

He turned back to face his computer, and pulled out a wireless keyboard from somewhere underneath his desk. "That's highly unusual, really. We typically get transfers done in under... two weeks? And you were the one with the water affinity, weren't you?"

"Correct."

Peter tapped at several keys, and brought up the files containing the transfer information. "That makes everything even stranger if they rejected the application. Water affinities are rare enough that every coastal city wants one... hmm, one moment, please.

"Hmm, it looks like it did leave the building. Arukenimon and Mummymon signed-off on it just three days after you filed it, so it's somewhere out there. Give me a moment to call them up, would you?"

Nodding and feeling a little lost due to the speed at which he was working, I just watched as he opened up a video link between his computer and someone else's. The video call remained unanswered for a few seconds, before it got put through to a woman with bushy hair and large, wire-rimmed glasses.

"Hello?" she said dreamily. "Wait... Canalave, is it?"

"Canalave port control here," Peter replied, nodding in affirmation. "Could you please run a check on a transfer application for me?

The woman nodded, and remained silent, fingers hovering expectantly over her own keyboard.

"Serial number is... R-021. Romeo-zero-two-one. It was filed about a month ago, and our records show that it's somewhere at your end."

"One moment..." the woman muttered as she typed away, wherever she was. "Hmm, I've got it. Apparently, it's been approved and mailed out. They just need confirmation from the applicant and his department head."

Peter frowned at that, clicking away at his ballpoint pen. "So are you telling me that it's been lost in transit?"

"Given the recent chaos, it could most certainly have been misplaced," she shrugged. "Best I could do is to flag it as a lost letter and send you another copy, though. May take a week to arrive at your end, since they'll need to re-approve it."

"Would appreciate it if you did that, then," Peter said, as he waved at her. "Thanks!"

The video call was stopped, and he spun about on his chair to face me again. "So, I take it you heard everything that you needed to hear?"

"I suppose," I replied. "Thanks, anyway. Looks like I'll just have to wait for that corpse named Gulag to notify me of fresh mail."

"Go easy on that old bastard, would you?" Peter murmured, as he got back to reading the document he had been frowning at earlier. "He's not entirely an asshole, really. You just need to get to know him better or whatever. Now, I got work to do, so scoot."

With that, it was back into the cubicle maze for me. After a few wrong turns and ending up hopelessly lost, I had to ask a confused-looking lady in a rumpled outfit for help, and so she ended up leading me out of there.

I swear, the fourth floor was horrible, and it wasn't even as big as the archives! At least Persiamon kept her department easy to navigate.

xxx

"Any luck on that missing transfer letter, kid?" General Harding asked me, as he dusted his bookshelf. "You did ask for another copy, right?"

"That I did," I replied, as I threw open his office window and allowed some fresh air into the room. "It should be here soon, I suppose. The woman at... well, wherever she was claimed it would take a week to get here."

"Bureaucracy and its hassles," he shrugged, taking a deep breath of ocean-scented air. "Ah, there's nothing quite like the smell of the sea, is there? Except maybe the smell of rain, but that's almost like pirated ocean scent, anyway."

"Rain smells salty?" I asked him, causing him to flip me off.

"Bah, you whore! Always spoiling my analogies and comparisons!" he said dramatically, holding a hand to his forehead and acting as if he had just witnessed an atrocity of some sort. "Keep the perfect grammar in the toilet, would you? The graffiti needs it."

"How does grammar factor into this, and since when is there graffiti in our toilets?" I said, smiling a little despite myself. "Unless you're implying that the government doesn't have surveillance in the toilets, in which case the terrorists should all conspire while taking a crap."

General Harding assumed a cowering pose and gave me a wide-eyed expression of mock-horror. "You mean those bastards have cameras in the _toilet?_ Hot damn, do those sick perverts have a scat fetish or something?"

Just as I thought he would drop the whole act right there and then, he continued, "Next time, point the cameras out to me so I can flash them. It may just make the day of that depraved degenerate that they undoubtedly hire to monitor the loo cameras!"

I almost choked over the sudden burst of laughter that left me at that, and wound up going teary-eyed and giggling feebly as General Harding slapped me on the back.

"Should I be concerned that you're finding my usual crass behaviour this amusing?" he mused, smirking a little. "A year... nah, even a few months ago, I suppose this would've scandalised you horribly."

"For the _record,_" I said, standing up a little straighter and narrowing my eyes at him, "I still think that you are a horrible, crude, lecherous bastard."

"And I'm awesome like that, aren't I?" he said airily, as he plopped down into his chair. "Bet you still keep that episode with me and Fen as spank bank material."

"Sir!" I all but squeaked, going bright red in the face. "I do not... I don't_ masturbate_ to fantasies of you and General Fen, thank you very much!"

General Harding leaned back in his seat and offered me a cocky smirk. "What can I say? I'm a first-class magnificent bastard."

Insufferable he might have been, and he did tend to get the last word over me, but if there was one thing that was for sure, it was that I would miss him once I got out of Canalave. Zachary Harding, for all his eccentricities and insanely perverted sense of humour, was not too bad as far as commanding officers went. So I suppose that it would only be fair to admit that I'd remember him with fondness and perhaps more than just a touch of incredulity.

Well, maybe just a little fondness, and more of the incredulity.

xxx

"Anything for me?"

"Nope. Nothing, nada, zilch."

"You need to get out more, Gulag."

"I get around a lot, with your _mother._"

"Oh yeah? Well, your mother's _face!_"

"... Now that's just plain disturbing."

"I'll bet. Anyone who could pop you out must look disturbing. I'm not even going to speculate on how your father looks like if you're supposed to be a diluted version of his genes."

"Very funny. Don't worry, I'll get a spinarak to send it up if it does arrive, alright?"

"Much appreciated, Gulag."

"Fuck off."

xxx

As things at Canalave port control tended to work out, the transfer letter arrived when I least expected it to. That is to say, it arrived when I was halfway through a shower after a round of my thrice-weekly physical training sessions.

"Wait, so this is the transfer letter?" I asked the spinarak, which chirped and nodded its tiny head. "And you couldn't wait till after I got out of the shower?"

"_And miss my chance to see one of Canalave's human porn stars in his natural environment?"_ the little spider asked me, sounding vaguely amused. _"I'll leave it with your uniform, then."_

"Thanks," I called out after its retreating back. "And for fuck's sake, I'm not a porn star!"

"_That's what they all say!"_ sang the impudent arachnid as it scurried away towards the locker room.

"I'm telling your father about this!" Ford the ariados was apparently the sire of most of our messenger bugs here at port control, though just who the mother was remained a mystery to me.

"_As if he gives a shit!"_

Shaking my head out of disbelief at the spinarak's language, which seemed to be almost a competitor for Silas' – and also getting the water out of it at the same time – I started drying off my hair and headed into the locker room, making sure to keep my towel on at all times, in the event that those voyeuristic idiots were going at it with the hidden cameras again. At least the spinarak was good at doing its job – there was an envelope placed neatly on top of my folded uniform.

I picked up the envelope and read the return address on it – yup, it was from the big people, all right. There were the usual stamps marking it as private and confidential, to return it to the senders if received with a broken seal, and so on, which pretty much distinguished it as an official document. Putting it aside, I started to get dressed, still moving around carefully in case I ended up being Private Darkie again – don't ask me why they chose that name for me, of all things.

Just to be careful, I switched off the lights in the locker room. Private Darkie, indeed.

xxx

Back at my dorm room, I let Silas out of his pokeball, and showed him the letter. He didn't seem to get it at first, but after a short while, he caught on quickly. Smart, as always.

_"Trainer, is that..."_ his voice trailed off.

"Yes it is, Silas!" I beamed at him. "This here is my ticket out of here. Once General Harding and I sign this stupid little piece of paper, we'll just need to forward it back to those blithering idiots at the return address, and we'll be out of here in a few days!"

Silas eyed the envelope with suspicion. _"Looks a little thick for a single piece of paper, don't you think?"_

"What are you talking about?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow, only to catch sight of the envelope itself. "Oh... Oh my."

_"Indeed, Trainer,"_ Silas whistled,_ "that is one thick bundle of paperwork for you to read through tonight."_

That still couldn't stop me from smirking at him, though. "As annoying as paperwork usually is, for this, I'm willing to make an exception."

_"That's the spirit!"_ he chirped, sticking his tongue out and waving it about._ "Just go easy on Harding when you guide him through it, though."_

Now, _that_ was. "Oh, dear."

As quick as his mind worked, General Harding was indeed a complete klutz at paperwork. He was one of the few generals at port control to have an assistant, partially because there were just that many aquatic pokemon within close proximity of the place, but also because he was usually assigned a lot of paperwork, which he was completely hopeless at. Just who decided on it, how, and why he ended up basically manning a desk despite his natural talents – aside from being a sexual dynamo, it seemed he did have a few nifty tricks up his sleeves – was beyond me.

Oh, and look! The stack of documents for the transfer to be approved was, mercifully, only eight pages long. In Zachary-speak, that probably could equate to nearly twenty minutes of confusion, which was already a good deal, considering.

Nonetheless, I decided that I would suck it in and take the whole ordeal like a man. "I'll deal with it tomorrow at the office. Do you have a pen, Silas?"

He blew a raspberry at me, looking torn between amusement and bewilderment. _"Where the fuck would I keep a pen?"_

xxx

As Silas had reminded me and effectively predicted, General Harding was totally befuddled by the transfer paperwork. It didn't help that earlier on the day, he'd had to work his way through a stack of documents literally as thick as a the fat end of a baseball bat. While I did help him through the mass of paperwork, it still threw him for a spin, it did.

"So I need to sign this here?" he asked wearily. "Really, kid, can't this wait till tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow morning you'll probably be hung-over thanks to the drinks you'll be having after this, thanks to that huge shitload of paperwork from just now," I reminded him. "And it being a Saturday, you'd most probably end up either sleeping in the office or with General Fen to weather the hangover. So... I suppose if I want to mail these out by Monday, I'll need to get you done with today."

He blinked at me noctowlishly. "Say what say where say when?"

I laughed at his confused expression. "Alright, I'll help you through the documents. But could we hurry it up? It is Friday, and my folks are expecting me back for dinner."

"Friday?" he said, sounding alarmed, before turning around to check the calendar on the wall. "So it is! Fuck me, it's Friday already?"

"That paperwork must have really been horrible for you," I remarked, as I flipped through the eight pages of paperwork. "It'll be quick work for you to settle these, unless you want me to brief you on what the documents actually say."

He looked a little guilty at that. "Rookie, you know that I hate signing stuff I don't read first, right? So thanks for the offer, but if you want them done tonight, I'll have to take it a little slowly.

"I could get my jellicent to Shadow Sneak you to Jubilife once we're done, though. At least, it'll shorten the trip, so you might just be a little late for dinner. How's that sound?"

Quickly, I did the numbers in my head. Using a Shadow Sneak and not having to take the train meant cutting an hour of commuting time from the trip, which would indeed allow me to get back to Jubilife about on time for dinner. And since this seemed to be one of the rare instances when General Harding had his jellicent on him outside of field work, it would be easy for me to find a cooperative ghost.

I glanced at the clock mounted on the wall, and saw that it was just about a quarter to seven in the evening – the time just went to show how bad the documents earlier had been on my boss. Given that we usually sat down for dinner at around eight... well, it was all workable.

"Alright, then," I nodded, getting up and patting him on the shoulder. "Why don't you try to make some headway through reading them first, and I'll call my folks to let them know I might be held up?"

"Thanks, kid," General Harding said, pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyes shut. "You're a lifesaver, you are. Now, where do I start?"

I pointed out the first page to him, and left the room to call my parents.

xxx

"No, this means that by signing this, you agree that you cannot take any legal action against me for any unfinished business I've left behind," I sighed, as General Harding squinted suspiciously at the fine print. "Of course, I'll wrap everything up here before I leave, so it's just a formality."

"If you say so, kid," he yawned, as he finished reading the text and nodded. "Sounds about right, so I'll just sign it here. Anything else?"

I flipped the document. "Just the last page, then. Now, this means-"

A loud, rumbling sound cut me off halfway. Thinking that it was the grandfather clock upstairs acting up again, I took a second to check the time, and saw that it was indeed eight at night. As for just why they kept a grandfather clock in the cubicle maze... well, they needed something that could tell everyone the time, so the loud noises of that antique clock seemed to fit the bill.

"And we're done!" General Harding said, sounding immensely relieved. "I trust that you of all people wouldn't attempt to make me sell my soul, so I just skimmed through and signed that last page, anyway. Now, I do believe we have a jellicent to take to Jubilife?"

"Thanks, sir!" I said, feeling like a deflating balloon as the stress of guiding him through the paperwork left me. He may have tried his best, but something made me feel as if he was being slower than he usually was as we went through the transfer documents. Maybe it was the monstrous letters from the afternoon? "I appreciate you staying back to do this, a lot."

He stood up and stretched slowly, his spine letting out several audible popping sounds as it straightened out. "Thanks for being so patient with me, hah! I know that I'm about as handy with paperwork as a one-armed hooker in an orgy, so yeah..."

"Didn't need that mental image, sir," I told him, as I slipped the documents back into their envelope and sealed it. "How do you come up with these things, anyway?"

"I'm just a right bastard," he replied, sounding tired. "Anyway, let's leave the building before using the Shadow Sneak, shall we? Last time I used it indoors was... messy."

Before I could say anything, there was another rumbling noise, much louder than the one I'd heard earlier. It seemed to have come from somewhere in the distance, and based on his facial expression, General Harding had heard it, too.

"What was that?" I asked him, as we headed towards the stairs. Standard rules; when things may be going wrong, always take the stairs. "Sir?"

"I don't know," he said warily. "Now let's get outside and see if anyone out there has any idea what's going on."

We rapidly descended the stairs, and walked out into the completely deserted reception area. There wasn't anyone else in sight, which made me wonder if we were the last to leave that day. For once, the silence in the building felt stifling rather than soothing.

Through port control's glassy front walls, we could see the guards outside staring at something in the distance. Following their direction of gaze, I saw that they were looking at the sky.

Specifically, they were looking at a patch of sky that appeared to be a dull, smoky orange colour.

"Sir, that's..." I couldn't finish speaking as I recalled the last time I'd seen a sky with that exact shade. Memories of a train car being teleported out of a station and being used to bomb a tower came to my mind, even as I realised just what had caused the rumbling sounds, and in where we were looking towards.

Jubilife had been attacked.


	35. Collapse

**Chapter 34 – Collapse**

I stared at the orange sky above what was unmistakably Jubilife, trying to stay calm. A quick glance towards the cloud-covered peak of Mount Coronet confirmed that I wasn't seeing things, and that my hometown was indeed going up in flames. The timing of it all did make me wonder why it was happening, though. Slenderman hadn't appeared on the news as he usually did prior to the terrorist attacks.

"Sir, I need to get back there," I said to General Harding, who was looking uneasily in Jubilife's direction. "Sir!"

He gave me a sad look, and slowly shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Sir, my family is there," I said, my voice shaking with some barely-suppressed panic. "I need to get to them-"

"We have no idea what happened back there," he cut me off, "and in the interest of your safety, I will not Shadow Sneak you over there. You'd just hamper the rescue teams, believe me.

"And since your folks like at the edge of town, they should be safe. If there's one place the terrorists would attack, it's the radio tower, and that's at the heart of town."

"You... you...," my voice trailed off as I digested his words. Not able to come up with a coherent response, I ended up leaning against the front wall of port control for support, feeling lightheaded. "I really hope you're right, sir."

He put a hand on my shoulder, his expression looking like a mixture of sympathy and fatigue. "Same here, kid."

We ended up going back to his apartment, and watching the news. He apparently decided that I needed someone to keep an eye on me to stop me from going back to Jubilife, somehow, and so I wound up at his place.

The news – or the lack of it to begin with - wasn't encouraging at all. As far as we could see, the broadcasts on half of the television channels were down thanks to the attack on Jubilife's radio tower (that was confirmed), and the others were only providing sparse details. No news was available on whether the suburbs at the edge of town had been hit, though.

Jubilife had been one of Sinnoh's most tightly guarded cities, what with it being our central communications hub and all that. Decades ago, it had just been the location of Sinnoh's largest radio tower, but as time went by, the radio tower had been renovated, modified, and upgraded to include almost all the broadcasts in Sinnoh. If it was on the air, it was routed through the tower at some point, be it for censorship or signal amplification.

Which was why, at any given time, the sheer amount of military personnel present near the city center was staggering, and civilians weren't even allowed near the radio tower any longer. In fact, the tower's own broadcasting facilities were considerably dangerous, with all manner of electronic traps and defences built-in. Somehow despite all of the government's efforts to secure their main broadcasting facility, it seemed that the terrorists had managed to... do something at Jubilife.

If only I knew something, _anything_ about Jubilife's current status.

"Here, kid," General Harding offered me a cup of warm coffee. "Something to keep you going while we wait for any news."

"Thanks, sir," I replied, taking the cup of coffee from him even though I didn't feel like eating or drinking anything right then. "Not going to sleep?"

"As if," he snorted softly. "You'd be out my front door as soon as I doze off, don't think I don't know that. So I'm going to keep watch over you until we actually know what's happening here."

"Just when will that be?" I asked him, watching as a news crew flew over the burning ruins of what looked like the Jubilife town hall.

He sat down next to me, taking in the sight of the emergency crews arriving and starting to put out the fire. "I don't know, kid. I really don't."

It was three hours later, and just past midnight, when the news of my father's death reached me.

xxx

"If you'll just sign here, we can arrange for a cremation," said the haggard-sounding orderly. "In these circumstances, we'd advise that as opposed to a traditional burial."

"Circumstances?" I echoed numbly.

He gave me a sympathetic look, and pointed to the form I was supposed to be filling in. "It says here that your father got crushed to death by a collapsing ceiling. The undertakers could fix him up well enough, but you know how it is, really. Sometimes the corpse... doesn't look its best."

For a moment, I just stood there, before finally understanding the meaning of his words. When they sank in, I grimaced, and offered him a nod. "Alright, then. Where do I sign the form, again?"

Two days had passed since the terrorist attack at Jubilife, and most of the rubble had been cleared already. According to official sources, the Jubilife radio tower had been the primary target, which was a bummer, really – anyone with half a brain could have figured that out for themselves. Presently, the death toll was already in the thousands, and was climbing steadily with each passing hour.

As always, the terrorists had found their own ways to bypass security. Nearly half of the city had been literally shaken to bits and demolished as the tunnels which the terrorists had excavated beneath the ground collapsed, and the fact that high explosives had been placed directly beneath the radio tower's foundations had basically ensured that nothing above the tunnels was still standing. From the aerial view offered by the surviving news crews, it looked almost as if a titanic plough had worked its way through the city, starting from the radio tower and working its way towards the cemetery, which was apparently the point of entry for the terrorists' tunnel.

Jubilife had often been called the best well-planned city in the history of Sinnoh, a marvel of modern engineering and city planning. But the terrorists had come and cut a massive swathe of destruction straight through the neat rows of houses, the grid-like streets, and the people whose quiet, orderly lives had been torn apart by the chaos.

As it so happened, my family's home had been caught somewhere in the middle of their collapsing tunnel. The house had been demolished, and the rescue crews were just only getting round to the edge of the city.

If my mother and her pokemon were still alive under all that rubble after forty-eight hours, they would be lucky indeed.

General Harding, for once, was quiet. He had gotten emergency leave for the two of us and taken me to the Jubilife hospital – the terrorists had angled their tunnel around it, thankfully – and accompanied me to sign off on the management of my father's body. He had also force-fed me an unhealthy amount of coffee, watering it down so that I wouldn't end up overdosing on the caffeine or some crap like that.

For once, I felt grateful to have him around. And not for the first time, I felt bad about my earlier plots against him. When my fatigue, guilt, and plain old shock of losing my father eventually got together in my mind, though, I ended up collapsing into a corner of the hospital's crowded lobby, feeling like every bone in my body had been removed.

When General Harding offered to take me back to Canalave, I couldn't even answer him.

xxx

The fuss about the Jubilife bombing died down soon enough. While it certainly had a higher body count than the Canalave bombing had, the fact that our communications had been so severely handicapped made the news travel a whole lot slower than it had during the aftermath of Canalave. Most of the television networks were operating again, but the broadcast were inconsistent and mostly of very poor quality.

Word on the streets was that if the terrorists had wanted to show just how complacent the government had been, and how it had put all its eggs in the same basket for what was arguably the most important weapon in their arsenal – the media – they certainly had proven their point. Some wondered if the other continents had also been affected, since there was a distinct lack of news from the foreign states, too.

And within a few days, it was confirmed. The radio towers at Lavender town, Goldenrod city, Castelia city, and Mossdeep had also been attacked, and so civilisation had ground to a halt in five of the biggest cities on Earth thanks to the terrorists and their not-so-little stunts.

I barely noticed all that, frankly, since I was busy at the Canalave hospital. The rescue teams had eventually managed to dig my mother out from beneath the ruins of our family home, and had sent her off to the hospital. She was hanging on to life by a thread, the doctors said, and was very lucky to have survived the entire ordeal.

Getting her transferred to the Canalave General Hospital was easy enough, since I had a teleporting shellder at my disposal. Seeing her lying on that hospital bed hooked up to more machines than I'd have thought possible wasn't.

Finding out that Bruiser and Amy had died trying to protect their trainer when the house had collapsed was even harder on me than my father's death. Allan had survived, but just barely – he was a barely-coherent wreck. From what I'd been told, he'd actually used whatever psychic powers he had to try and hold up a large chunk of rubble for the three days that the rescue teams took to get to them, and it had been those actions of his that had prevented Mom from being completely crushed by the collapsed house. Naturally, he was just a hair past the threshold of insanity by the time they pulled her out of the wreckage, and was currently restricted to his pokeball for fear of him going feral.

"She is stable for now," the doctor said, sounding strangely distant, "but we're expecting her to be able to turn around. We've seen patients in worse shape recover from these injuries, so it's quite safe to say that she'll be fine barring any... unforeseen incidents."

"Thanks, doc," I muttered in reply, sitting down and practically sagging into the hard sofa outside the intensive-care unit.

She nodded. "If you have any questions, do enquire at the nursing station. Excuse me."

With that, she spun on her heel and left me alone outside the ward. I stared at her retreating back for a while, before she went into another patient's room and disappeared from my sight. I felt hollow on the inside, almost as though I hadn't eaten in a few days, and I swear I was starting to hallucinate due to a lack of sleep.

It was only when they closed the ward for the day that I left.

xxx

"_Trainer, you've got to eat, you're all skin and bones now,"_ Silas urged me, nudging his plate towards me with his tongue. _"Here, have my share."_

I just stared at the plate, and flicked my gaze in his direction, seeing the worried look in his eyes. Somewhere at the edge of my consciousness, I was aware that he'd just offered me his food. Somewhere within my depressed, confused fog, I was aware that I normally would have been poking fun at him for that little bit of kindness. Raw fish was all there was on the plate, but I was feeling too tired to eat, anyway. Hell, I felt too tired to fall asleep.

"Nah, I'm not hungry," I managed to reply. "You carry on, then, Silas."

"_Trainer-"_ he started, only to go silent as I pushed the plate back towards him with a trembling hand.

Getting up, I left him at the mess hall's table – he could always teleport back to our room whenever he finished.

I didn't miss the sad look he cast in my direction when he thought my back was turned.

xxx

"Is you all right, young man?" Babamon asked me when I dropped Silas off at the vault for some exercise. "You look like you need a break."

"Life goes on, Babamon," I replied, even as Silas let out a low whistle. "Just keep an eye on him, would you? I think he's turning soft in the head."

She cocked her head to one side. "What makes you say that?"

"He offered me his food last night at dinner," I told her, as I turned around and headed back out of the vault. "Make sure he's healthy, would you?"

"_Trainer!"_ Silas exclaimed, sounding aghast. _"Babamon, you know what's going on, don't you?"_

I wasn't around to hear her response – by then, I'd closed the vault's doors behind me.

My stomach growled like a ravenous arcanine, but fortunately, it wasn't going to harass me with gastric pains anytime soon. God bless magnesium hydroxide and its acid-neutralising properties.

xxx

"Hello, anyone home?"

I blinked like confused mareep, snapping out of my reverie as General Harding waved a hand about in front of my face, looking concerned. A week had passed since my mother had been transferred to the ward at Canalave General's ICU, and work had been going on as it normally did. I'd clock in and work from eight to five, and then head to the ward before it closed at eight.

"Sorry, sir," I replied absently, as I shook my head to clear my thoughts a little, and continued sorting out the documents in front of me. "I must have spaced out for a while there."

"Look at me, would you?" he said, sounding worried. I turned to look at him, and he frowned. "Holy shit, you look like death warmed over. When was the last time you shaved?"

Puzzled, I ran a hand over my chin, and sure enough, he was right – there was some stubble there. Not something you'd usually see on me, since I was a Nazi about keeping clean-shaven.

"... and when was the last time you ate. Food, that is?" he asked me, his voice taking on a sharp edge. "Or slept properly?"

"What?" I asked him in return, caught off-balance by the sudden barrage of questions.

He glared at me. "Babamon says you aren't eating, and that Silas tells her you're abusing milk of magnesia to keep the gastric away. Oh, and Fen told me about you fainting thanks to low blood sugar in the pool the other day. Care to explain yourself?"

"I'll clean up and have a meal tonight," I said irritably, as I looked him in the eye and wincing a little as I took in just how unhappy he looked. "Look, it's nothing big, alright?"

"Yes it is," he said, sitting down and raising his eyebrow at me. "Stop what you're doing, right now. And I don't mean the paperwork."

"Life goes on," I muttered, turning back to my work. "Even if people die, life goes on and so does work-"

"For fuck's sake, look at me!" he snapped, causing me to jump a little in my seat. I felt several of my joints popping as I did so, and couldn't help but make a face – had it really been that long since I'd had a good stretch?

By then, General Harding had already made his way around his desk, and had grabbed me by my right arm. "Damn it, I knew something was off. Come on, kid. We're going for a drink."

"But we've got work to do!" I protested, hardly believing my own voice when I heard it. "Sir-"

He spun me about and gave me a flat look. "You've been working yourself to death. How long more do you think you can keep this up? If Fen hadn't pulled you out, you would have _drowned_ in the pool!"

All I could do was to stare at him in return.

His expression softened, and he patted me on the shoulder. "Just come with me, all right? The work can wait."

Nodding slowly, I followed him out of the office.

xxx

"I thought you said we were going for a drink?" I asked General Harding, as we headed back to his apartment. "Sir?"

"How many times must I tell you to stop calling me that?" he sighed. "Just one thing to do before we go for a drink, rookie. Need to meet someone."

Just as I was about to ask him about who we'd be meeting, we arrived at his apartment. He unlocked the front door, and gestured for me to step into the apartment. I did, and what I saw – or rather, who I saw – in the hall made me freeze on the spot.

"_Hello,"_ said Ben the gardevoir, an uncharacteristically downcast expression on his face. _"We meet again, it seems."_

"What's all this about?" I asked warily. Had it all come down to this, then?

General Harding nudged me towards Ben, and let out a heavy sigh. "Ben knows what to do. It won't take a minute."

I stepped towards the sofa, and Ben got up. He offered me a hand, and I extended mine to shake it-

-only to feel as though a bucket of ice-cold water had been emptied over my head.

Even before I could do or say anything else, I felt a strange kind of warmth bubbling up inside me. It was almost like one of those manic, uncontrollable giggling fits I tended to get after I'd gotten thoroughly sloshed, but somehow... this felt different. By the time the warmth had reached my head, I felt as though I wanted to do nothing but to curl up into a ball and go to sleep for a long, long time.

The world started spinning around me, and I felt lightheaded. I tried to reach out an arm to steady myself, but my body could have been driftwood for all the control I had over it right then. Ben might have been right there in front of me, holding my hand, but at that moment, everything else seemed to blur into nothingness, as the warmth continued to envelop me.

When I fell, I really didn't feel anything at all. It was almost as if time had slowed down, and the air around me had liquefied. I hit the ground with an oddly muffled sound, and saw rather than felt the vibrations that went through my body upon impact. For a short while, I just lay there, as the warmth ebbed away.

Right as the last of the warmth had dissipated I felt a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. A wave of fatigue washed over me, leaving me feeling even more worn out than I had been when I'd stepped into General Harding's apartment – something which I wouldn't have thought possible.

And then came the thoughts which I'd been trying to keep locked away in the furthest, darkest corner of my mind.

_Dead_.

Realisation hit me like a head-on collision with a brick wall, and the pressing sensation on my chest intensified. Within seconds, I was starting to feel as though I was being buried in wet cement, and it was becoming difficult to breathe.

_Dead._

It wasn't supposed to be like this. They weren't even near the center of town, for goodness sakes!

_Dead._

Why?

_Gone._

Silence descended on me, wrapping itself around me like a shroud. In the quiet, another long-banished thought came to my mind, from the days when Sean was still alive, and when everything had been much simpler.

"_Ever wonder what happens to us after we die?" Sean asked, looking pensively into his soda bottle. "I mean, do you believe in Hell and all that?"_

"_Maybe," I shrugged. "Why?"_

"_Eh, I don't know," he took a swig from the bottle, and swallowed hard, his eyes watering a little as the gas bubbles made their way up his nose. "Grandma always told me to never pity the dead. She says those who deserve pity are those who got left behind."_

_We sat there in silence for a while, just watching the sunset and dangling our legs in the water, two teenagers who had nothing but the next day to look forward to. The two of us knew that he wouldn't be in town for long – he never did stop by for longer than a day or two whenever he returned – and that tomorrow he'd be gone again, resuming his training journey. And of course, being the sentimental bastard he was, he couldn't even let us finish a nice evening swim without bringing up one of his usual morbid discussion topics._

"_Your grandmother's weird," I told him, as I wrung my shirt out over the water, watching as the water's surface got hit and distorted by the droplets I'd squeezed out of the fabric. "But maybe... I guess it makes sense."_

_He nodded, and set his bottle down on the ground next to him. "Maybe, and maybe not. But just in case anything happens to me, you know what to do, right?"_

_I didn't answer him, and to his credit, he didn't press me for one. We'd had that conversation a few weeks before he'd started his journey, and I wasn't as cavalier about death as he was._

"_We'd best get going, then," he murmured, as he stood up and stretched. "I've got a long day tomorrow."_

"_You'd better get some rest tonight, then," I said, slowly getting up and wrapping my still-damp shirt around my neck like a scarf. "Need to crash at my place?"_

_He thought about it for a moment, and nodded with a grin. "Can do. Pokemon center's always running out of water in the showers, anyway, hah!"_

_As we headed back to my home, he slapped me on the back. "You're a good buddy. Just want you to know that."_

_I felt a sinking feeling in my chest just about then. Sean had been my only friend since elementary school, and seeing him off after his trips home never got any easier._

_Three months later, he was_ dead.

Sean had been dead for two years and I'd thought that I had come to terms with it, so why was the sinking feeling back? If anything, it felt even worse than it had been back then at his funeral.

The world slowly came back into focus all around me, and I realised that Ben was actually hugging me. For the first time since I'd met him, I realised that he was taller than I'd thought him to be – he was definitely about six feet in height. And yet, right then, he looked small and frail. Defeated, almost.

Something inside me died a little, not because a carnivorous psychic was hugging me, but because the effect of those deaths finally seemed to have caught up with me. They were only two people, really. Two boring, miserable, insignificant souls. But in their own way they'd mattered to me.

Images of Bruiser and Amy flashed past in my mind, and I literally felt as though something had broken inside my chest. Everything just felt so... empty.

Slowly, I got Ben to relinquish his grip on me, and sat down on the sofa he'd occupied earlier. General Harding was nowhere to be seen, along with any of his other pokemon. It was just the two of us in the hall, Ben and I. Just like it had been during those days spent in the sun with Sean, when afternoons were lazy, nights friendly, and silence calming.

Ben settled down on the sofa next to me, and patted me on the back.

"It's not fair, Ben," I whispered, as I stared at the back of my hands. "It just isn't."

Silence was all I got in return.

xxx

Later, General Harding dragged me to Seeny Mohammad's diner and forced me to have some soup. Silas was also there, and the two of them made sure that I finished an entire bowl of the stuff. It tasted like cardboard to me, and felt even worse when it sloshed into my stomach – probably felt that way thanks to me not eating anything more substantial than plain crackers for nearly a week. He then sent me back to my dormitory, with strict instructions for Silas to make sure I got a good night's rest.

Instead, I ended up waking up in the middle of the night, feeling nauseous. A groggy Silas barely managed to teleport us into the showers before I puked my guts out all over the tiled floor, and I was only slightly surprised to see some blood mixed in with the vomit. Dizziness overtook me, and I crashed to the ground, narrowly avoiding the puddle of vomit. Silas immediately teleported away, and when he returned, the dormitory medic was with him.

That was the last thing I saw before I blacked out.


	36. Ward

**Chapter 35 – Ward**

I woke up to the smell of disinfectant and a plain white ceiling above me. When my mind caught up with my consciousness, I realised that I was not in the sickbay at port control. Nonetheless, I wasn't surprised to see myself in a medical facility, given that my last memory involved me throwing up in the shower and fainting right next to a pool of my own vomit.

What _did_ surprise me was finding out just several seconds later that I had been strapped to the bed.

"What the..." I croaked, my throat feeling as dry as sandpaper. Just as I was about to start struggling against my bonds, a familiar voice spoke up from somewhere nearby.

"_Trainer, you're awake!"_

Startled, I tried to get up, only to end up throwing myself against the leather straps that bound me to the bed. With a frustrated groan, I turned my head to the side, and saw Silas peeking over the edge of a water-filled basin on the table next to my bed.

"Oh, hello, Silas..." I called out to him, trying to move myself into a more comfortable position on the bed; I gave up about three seconds later. "Where are we?"

"_The big hospital down at Old Canalave,"_ he replied, flicking his tongue about and narrowing his eyes at me. _"Dr. Esther decided she wasn't in the mood to handle a wannabe bulimic, so she sent you over here to be treated."_

"And these?" I asked him drily, as I tried to raise my immobilised arms.

He let out a low whistle. _"General Harding had them put you on suicide watch. He wouldn't put it past you, apparently."_

I sighed, and leaned back a little on my pillow. "How flattering."

"_Well, you were pretty idiotic back there at the dormitory,"_ Silas grumbled. _"You should have heard the medics complaining when they brought you in."_

"Oi!" a distinctly female – and irritated – voice exclaimed. "You were supposed to call me when he woke up!"

Silas squeaked a little. _"Not that it'll make a difference, would it? He seems fine."_

A nurse walked up to my bed, and gave me a stern look. Not one to be intimidated, I stared back at her, feeling noticeably more cheerful when she flinched a little.

"So, how are we feeling today?" she asked me, as she began to inspect a plastic bottle of saline that was hung up on a stand next to the bed – it was only then that I noticed the intravenous drip running into the crook of my right arm. "You've been out for a decent bit."

"Wait, how long have I been unconscious?" I asked her with raised eyebrows. "And I'm fine, thanks."

She shrugged, and picked up a clipboard that had been placed near the foot of my bed. "It says here you've been out for two days. Oh, and that you're on suicide watch, which explains the straps..."

"Can't you let me go?" I said, feeling the beginnings of a headache stirring about somewhere in my head. "My shellder's probably going to stop me from killing myself, right?"

"_And I'll kill him if he tries!"_ Silas added cheerfully.

"See?" I turned to the nurse, offering her the widest smile I could manage without looking too much like I was lying to her.

"Very funny," she muttered, as she turned about and left my bedside. "I'll notify the doctor in charge, and your commanding officer. Good day."

"Wait!" I called out at her retreating back, only for her to ignore me and walk right out of the ward. "Cunt."

Silas blew a raspberry at that. "_Now, now, she's just doing her job. No need to be an asshole about it."_

"You're one to talk," I growled, reflexively trying to swat him across the shell, only to find my arm being held back by the straps attached to the bed. "Aw, fuck."

"_Language, Trainer!"_

"Stuff it, would you?"

xxx

When I happily skipped into his office the day after I got discharged from the psychiatric ward, General Harding and Adrienne both stopped drinking their coffee and turned as one to stare at me.

"Are you alright, rookie?" he asked me slowly, putting his mug down. "You seem… energetic this morning."

"Never been better!" I replied, giving him and Adrienne a big grin. "I tell you, those doctors must have worked a miracle on me, because I haven't felt this dandy since I was in school!"

A thought crossed my mind right about then. "Well, either that, or throwing up my guts in the shower somehow did me a power of good. But really, who's counting?"

Adrienne placed her mug next to her trainer's on the table, and yawned_. "Did they give you any medication?"_

I smiled at her, and fished the little packet of tablets out of my pocket. "Of course!"

For a few moments, we just looked at each other in silence, before my head caught up to the fact that they were both trying to make out what the packet's label read. "What, they're just antidepressants!"

"Clearly, someone doesn't need them, or needs a lower dose," General Harding said, his expression changing from concern to one of amusement. "Who would've known that you'd be such a hyperactive little bastard on those?"

Those words of his certainly made me stop and think for a while. "But I feel great!"

"Hand over the pills," he said, holding out his hand and smirking at me. "Really, I'd hate to see what kind of damage a chipper you would inflict around these parts, given… what you did to that poor bastard in the toilet."

"No," I said defiantly, frowning at him. "These are good things."

"_You nearly electrocuted that man while he was taking a dump,"_ Adrienne reminded me. _"And blew out the fuses in that corridor, to boot."_

I snorted disdainfully. "He was a prick anyway. He deserved it."

General Harding smiled briefly, but quickly covered it up. "The drugs, kid."

Hesitantly and not without a few choice curses sent in his direction, I handed over my medication. "Phooey, you aren't any fun. Bastard."

"Now, that's much better!" he said, letting out a relieved sigh. "So, what were we supposed to do today, again?"

I merely stared at him, and shrugged. "Beats me. Work, maybe?"

He turned to Adrienne, and frowned. "Remind me to file a complaint with the shrinks later, would you?"

xxx

They picked me up at my dorm room three days later, when they came for me. It was all very dramatic, really – they even had a straightjacket, an ambulance, and two orderlies who looked like they could snap me like a twig if they wanted to. But of course, I went along willingly, since there was no point arguing with crazy people. Might as well indulge them, right?

Surprisingly enough, they thought I wasn't sane enough to be let out into the world! And they were rude enough to leave Silas in my room, too. The little bugger didn't even have hands to open the door with if he needed to leave the room, really!

Utter bollocks, really. I was as sane as a newly-divorced drunkard, and I knew what those bastards wanted to do with me. Clearly, they were all a bunch of depressed bastards and a certain water-attuned trainer being so cheerful all the time just didn't fit into their sinister agenda of sorts.

Assholes.

When we got to the psychiatric ward at Canalave General and I voiced my opinions to them – loudly, proudly, and repeatedly, to boot – they decided to strap me to a bed yet again. They also gave me a shot of something with made everything seem to turn blurry.

"You motherfuckers-" was all I managed to say to them before the sedatives kicked in.

xxx

The psychiatrist sitting across the desk from me was trying to intimidate me. And yet, he was the one who was sweating, despite the air conditioning in the room. We had been there for over an hour, and I wasn't any closer to getting discharged or having Silas returned to me.

Really, those morons seemed to think Silas and I were having a sort of mutual bad influence on each other. Preposterous, that's what it was – all the abuse we hurled at each other was done purely out of the goodness of our hearts, really. Or at least, we thought it was.

"As I was saying," he deadpanned, "you are not fit for even a desk job at port control, given how little improvement you've shown over the last few days. It is my professional opinion that you need intervention before you could return to work."

I gave him a bored look. "No improvement? Have you considered the fact that maybe I am, I don't know, _normal?_"

"You have severe gastritis, and deliberately starved yourself," he recited. "Such behaviour is unacceptable for members of the armed forces."

"Ben did his thing with my head already, like I said-"

"A gardevoir is hardly adequate-"

"He's certainly more competent than the overstuffed suit I'm talking to. As I recall, you were the ones who zapped the bejesus out of my brain with your shock therapy."

"Now, now, no need to be rude-"

"Suck my cock," I sang, rolling my eyes.

"Excuse me?" the psychiatrist at long last snapped. "What did you say?"

I shrugged. "You're not letting me go, anyway, so fuck you and that hideous suit of yours."

"Guard!" he barked into the intercom on his desk. "Escort this patient to Doctor Geber immediately!"

"Cheerio, Doc - I hope you get a persistent crotch itch," I said, saluting him as I got out of my chair and walked towards the guard that had just entered the room. "Don't worry, I'm coming. No need to cream your jeans like a virgin."

Seriously, was every doctor in this place an idiot?

xxx

"… but did you have to pee on his desk?" the orderly asked, not angrily, as he strapped me to my bed… again. "He's a bitter old man, and you just had to do that."

I snickered, and shrugged as best I could with the restraints in place. "Like I said, they're just wasting their time keeping me here. They could just call in a psychic, couldn't they? That would solve this whole problem in the blink of an eye, it would."

He shook his head. "You know they don't do that – it's a violation of privacy and all that."

"Aww, fuck that shite," I muttered, as he walked off. "Goodnight!"

Was that a 'crazy bugger' I heard as he left the ward? Hmm, maybe it was just one of the sedated people saying gibberish again.

xxx

If there was one thing I learned quickly while they had me locked up with the crazy people, it was that group therapy could actually be a rather amusing place to be. That is, provided you were actually the sane one among the loony crowd. And that the doctor in charge remained oblivious to the fact that I was happily yanking her chain.

Hey, they wanted to keep me in that smelly old ward. Blame them.

On the third day of therapy, we were going through a discussion on our hobbies, of all things, which turned out to be pretty boring initially. So what if that murderer they strapped into a wheelchair was actually a big fan of ice sculptures? Naturally, this meant that I ended up making the session a little livelier.

"- stop that this instant!" the doctor cried out, as I did a merry little jig while standing on my chair.

"Why?" I asked her, as the mad folks all cheered me on and applauded. "They seem to like it!"

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Nonetheless, this is not a strip club, and you aren't a stripper! You work for the army!"

"That's what I told them, but you know how they are," I sighed loudly, hopping off my chair and getting right up in her face before she could even blink. "I also told them that I was sane, really, but alas!"

"Clearly, young man, you need help," she said, sounding a little panicky. "Could you at least put your shirt on?"

I held up my shirt. "What, this thing? It's scratchy, and smells funny."

Turning around, I threw my arms wide, and grinned at my supposed comrades in insanity. "Plus, I don't think the view's any worse without it on. What do you guys think?"

They started cheering again, and the nymphomaniac in the straightjacket even offered me a saucy-looking wink. Meanwhile, the good doctor must have buzzed for security, since the door slide open to admit two orderlies, both of which didn't look too happy to see that their favourite patient was acting up again.

"You guys know what to do with him," the doctor said, rolling her eyes. "And for goodness sakes, get Geber to check his medication!"

I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Jeez, no need to get your knickers in a twist, woman. I'll go peacefully and all that."

"Come on, kid," said the burlier of the two hospital goons. "Put your shirt on, and it's off to Geber's office."

"You guys suck," I grumbled, as they led me out of the therapy room, waving to the doctor as I left, and wondering just what I'd do to that annoying bugger they'd put in charge of my medication.

xxx

Life in the ward got dull after the first week or so, really. The only thing that seemed to change on a daily basis was the medication they gave me, which really didn't seem to be working at all. I was happy as a grimer in garbage, and even when General Harding visited to tell me that I had been suspended from active duty, I wasn't too fussed.

Why get so worked up over something that wouldn't matter in a few years, anyway? Hell, I could die just as soon as I walked out of the place, for all anyone knew.

Silas did tag along during the visits – apparently, my lovely commanding officer was taking care of him while I did some loop-de-loops in the fun house – and he was really too concerned about whether I'd recover.

Duh, I'd recover. What else did that silly little clam expect?

When General Harding brought Ben in on his next visit, I was of course cheered by the thought of everyone's favourite horndog psychic being around for a chat. Perverted and vulgar as he might have been, Ben was a nice guy at heart, I was sure.

"Hullo, Benedict!" I chirped, as I drummed my fingers on the table and flashed a big grin in his direction. "Gotten laid with that medicham down the road yet?"

"_Alas, no,"_ he sighed melodramatically, placing a claw over his forehead. _"So, how are you? They tell me that you're giving the late George Carlin a run for his money on being a profane bastard."_

I leaned back in my seat, and shrugged. "Not my fault they unbanned those seven words on television. Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits. It's no big deal, really. Much ado over nothing, just like the gigolo who had the body of a Roman god and a micropenis."

Ben's eyes went wide – such a lovely shade of red, really – and he sat down opposite me. _"Zachary was right. Something _is_ wrong with you. Since when did you develop a sense of humour?"_

"Aww, you flatter me. I'm sure that people are hearing things," I moved forward leaned onto the table, looking him in the eyes. "Maybe the _doctors_ are the crazy ones here, has the thought occurred to you?"

He sighed and shook his head, causing his fringe to flop about like that ridiculous singer everyone used to be crazy about nearly a century ago. _"They must really need a lot of patience when dealing with you, I think."_

I giggled at that. "Everyone's been so nice, really! All so worried about me, and all that, but I'll be fine!"

"_Your mother's still in the ICU,"_ he reminded me, crossing his arms over his chest. _"And Silas is so worried about you that he has actually stopped swearing."_

"God bless his black-hearted soul," I said with a wistful smile. "Do pass my regards to that vulgar little twat, would you? And I'm sure Mom will be fine – the ICU's just the place for her."

Ben narrowed his eyes at me. _"Oh, this won't do at all."_

In the blink of an eye, he had reached out across the table and grabbed my right hand. Before I could even say anything, his eyes started to glow, and for one short moment, I knew what was about to happen before it did. Seriously, what was it with psychics and playing around with my head? Did I have a 'Please probe here' sign on my forehead or something?

"You fucking-" was all I got out before he took a plunge into my head, churning up a veritable torrent of images and memories like a film projector going berserk.

I didn't know how long we sat there with him rooting through my head looking for… whatever the fuck he was looking for, but by the time he stopped, I realised four things.

Firstly, I was back in the psychiatric ward again.

Secondly, I was holding hands with Ben of all people or pokemon.

Thirdly, the clock on the wall read three in the afternoon, so why wasn't I at work?

And speaking of work, where was that rude mollusc I lived with?

"Ben, I'm all for bromance and that good stuff, but could we not act all mushy?" I asked the gardevoir across the table, raising an eyebrow. "Don't you have a medicham to screw, or something?"

He sniffed, and relinquished his grip on my hand. _"Typical of you, really. I undo all the damage those amateurs did with their little candy tablets and the first thing you tell me is still about having sex with that medicham. Does your mind ever wander far from sex?"_

"Oh, stow it, Ben," I groaned, as I stood up and stretched, feeling a wave of relief washing over me as my vertebrae all popped one after the other. "Damn, that's one good stretch. And yes, I'm a horny bastard who thinks of sex nearly all the time."

"_Zachary!"_ Ben called out, rolling his eyes. _"Get in here and deal with your assistant, would you?"_

xxx

"- and what do you see here?" the psychiatrist asked me, holding up yet another card with an inkblot on it.

I gave the card a cursory glance, and offered him a sweet smile. "Pretty flowers."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Are you sure of that?"

"Would you rather I say it looked like a vagina?" I asked him cheerfully, causing the security officer behind him to send a dirty look in my direction. For lack of anything better to do, I waggled my eyebrows at him, and offered him a wink. "Love you too, sweets."

The psychiatrist sighed, and placed the card back into the box with those which he had shown to me previously. "Alright, that's it. Good day."

"Am I going to be discharged, then?" I cocked my head to one side and looked him in the eye. "Contrary to what most might think, I _do_ enjoy my job, and I would like to get back to it."

He stopped halfway to the door, and nodded with a sigh. "You are either well enough to be sarcastic or a complete psychopath. Given who your immediate superior is… well, I'd say I could discharge you without any sleepless nights."

I threw my hands in the air, causing the goon at the door to place a hand on his truncheon's handle. "How does everyone know that I work with General Harding, really? Is it on file, is he just that insane, or are you guys stalking me?"

"Keep it down, buddy," snapped the guard, earning himself a glare from yours truly.

"Oh, could you just can it, Smokey?" I narrowed my eyes at him, drawing some pleasure in watching him back away slightly. "I'm not cuffed now, and I could beat you into tomorrow's obituaries if I wanted to."

The guard looked for a moment as if he was contemplating giving me a beating there and then with his truncheon, but settled on trying to fry me with a death-glare instead when the doctor gestured for him to stand down.

My psychiatrist placed his face in his hands, and groaned. "Just go, will you? Back to the ward, and you'll be out of here by tonight."

I jumped out of my seat, making them both flinch a little, and beamed at them. "Glad to have done business with you, doctor!"

"Fuck off," muttered the guard, as he stepped aside to let my poor, abused psychiatrist out of the room.

Really, those dudes needed to work on their bedside manner. Healthcare must have really gone down the drain since the Revolution.

xxx

While the doctors did eventually certify me to be sane and fit for duty, some problems did arise within about a month of me being discharged from the psychiatric unit. General Harding noticed it before I did, and as usual, he raised his concerns loudly and repeatedly. By repeatedly, of course, I meant that he bugged me about it for nearly a week.

"You're squinting again," he said, shaking his head. "Shouldn't you get your eyes checked out?"

"I'm fine," I replied, despite the fact that the documents I was supposed to be sorting out were almost unreadable thanks to the fact that the words were all a blur. "It's probably just not enough sleep again, so don't worry about it."

He shook his head, and got up, walking over to his bookshelf. "Crazy bugger, you are. For all we know, you'll be losing your sight due to too much jerking off just like that old wives' tale says."

"If you say so, sir," I frowned at the blurry letters on the page I was initialling, and tried to figure out whether the dock workers were asking for ten cranes or a few wines, while General Harding busied himself with whatever it was he was getting from the shelf. "Do we allow alcohol on the docks? Or do they really need _ten_ cranes?"

"Not officially, at least. For the alcohol," General Harding replied from behind me. Briefly, I wondered why he was standing that close to me, but I brushed it off as being my paranoia acting up again.

And then he beat me across the head, knocking me out.

Ten hours later, when I finally returned to consciousness, we were back in my dorm room, and he passed me the sheet of paper which confirmed the diagnosis. Ben might have managed to treat the temporary insanity the drugs had induced in my mind, but the damage had been done. No one, not even the doctors, could say for sure when everything would fall apart in there.

One thing they all agreed on, though, was that it was only a matter of time before I would be blind.


	37. Sight

**Chapter 36 – Sight**

Academics were unusual, if you asked me. Academicians, similarly, were all oddballs. And the reason I said so was because within forty-eight hours of me receiving the news of my impending blindness, I received a letter from a prominent medical academician regarding my participation in a research project of his.

"So he's an eye doctor?" I asked Mary the receptionist, as she leafed through the military-issue yellow pages in an attempt to locate the doctor's phone number.

With a nod, she continued flipping the pages. "Yes, and I believe the proper term is 'ophthalmologist'. Ah, there it is – ophthalmology. I'll just write it down for you, then."

I was squinting a little as I tried to read the number on the page, and shook my head out of frustration when I realised that the font, once something I could read with ease, was now little more than a blurry squiggle. So it seemed that General Harding's claim that I'd be needing glasses soon weren't completely unwarranted, after all.

Briefly, the image of me in the doctor's office during the physical I'd been given prior to joining the army flashed through my mind. There had been a few eye tests back then, too. My gut started warming up for the ballet when I recalled that bad eyesight was grounds for dismissal from the military.

"And here you go!" Mary said cheerily, snapping me out of my reverie. "Doctor Harada's contact details, and I'd advise you to book an appointment first."

I mumbled my thanks, and headed towards the public telephones next to the cafeteria.

xxx

It wasn't difficult to book an appointment with Doctor Harada, and so I found myself sitting in a large, squashy, and rather comfortable couch outside his office just two days after calling him up. As I sat waiting for his secretary to retrieve my files and deliver them to him, I mulled over the three things that had grabbed my attention when I'd stepped foot into the waiting area outside his office.

The first had been the sheer _emptiness_ of the room. Aside from the couch, there wasn't even a coffee table with magazines on it, as was the norm for most clinics. The walls were devoid of posters or notices of any sort, and it seemed to me that every flat surface in the room had been painted the same shade of light blue.

Then there had been the transparisteel barrier between the secretary's cubicle and the waiting area. Given that I usually only saw such barriers in banks – which was easily attributed to their bulletproof nature – this was indeed something unusual.

And of course, there was the secretary herself. She was a tall woman who looked neat enough and carried herself in a manner that suggested she'd be right at home in the corporate world, but the foggy blue colour of her eyes gave everything away once I'd seen them. A glance at the computer inside her cubicle revealed that her keyboard and filing cabinets were all marked with Braille symbols, to boot.

Really, who would've thought that a blind woman could be a secretary for a doctor?

"Doctor Harada will see you now," she said, as she passed a few sheets of paper through a rectangular hole in the wall, which presumably led to the doctor's office. "Don't mind his appearance, though; he hasn't been too well of late."

"Thanks," I nodded, getting up and crossing the room to the door with a plaque on it, which simply read 'Koyanagi Karada, M.D., MS'.

Through the door, I heard what sounded suspiciously like the buzzing of a bee, followed by a soft, "Come in."

I opened the door, and entered the office. "Good morning-"

Once more, I found myself distracted by something out of the ordinary. This time, it was the two pokemon – a mothim and a venomoth - that were perched on top of a bookshelf in the room. Of all the things I'd expected to see in a doctor's office, large bugs were definitely not high on the list.

"Ah, I see you've noticed Fujiko and Fujio," said a kindly voice from somewhere to my left. "Don't mind them."

I turned to look at the doctor, and my jaw just about hit the floor when I saw that he was, just like his secretary, blind; his eyes were both as white as hard-boiled eggs. Aside from the fact that he was wearing a white doctor's coat, he could have passed for your typical blind man from Japan, or something like that.

"Wait, you perform surgery, and you're blind?" I blurted out, feeling more than a little uneasy at the thought of a blind surgeon.

He waved a hand dismissively. "Not so much anymore, child. The most I do is consulting in the operation theatre. Who in their right mind would license a blind man for surgery, really?"

At least that much made sense. It still didn't explain the television screen next to his desk, though.

"But that's not to say I don't examine patients and do research! Come, take a seat at that machine there, and I'll take a look at your eyes."

"But how-" I began, only to be cut-off by him getting out of his seat and crossing the room towards a machine that resembled a sort of oversized microscope.

"Just take a seat, and relax. Head in the headrest, please," he said, flipping a few switches on the wall next to the machine, causing the television screen beside his desk to come to life with a smooth hum. "Quickly, now."

Hesitantly, I sat down in the seat he'd pointed out, and placed my head in the headrest. Without missing a beat, he adjusted the height of the headrest until I was at eye-level with the shiny lenses of his machine, and seated himself at the machine's controls.

"Now, I'm just going to examine the outside of your eyes, and then I'll check the inside of your eyes with this lens," he said, holding up a small, coin-sized lens he'd apparently whipped out of thin air. "And don't mind my two partners – they'll be assisting me during the examination."

For a moment, I rolled my eyes to look at his pokemon, and saw that they'd positioned themselves right in front of the TV, and were watching it intently. The image on the screen was blurry, though.

"Look straight at me, please."

Reluctantly, I did so, and he started the eye test. Surprisingly, it wasn't painful at all, save for the glare from the machine's obscenely bright lights. And for a blind man, Doctor Harada still managed to carry out the examination in a confident, relaxed manner. How he managed to get anything out of the examination was beyond me, though – I might not have had a medical degree, but you needed eyes to look through a lens, right?

It took all of fifteen minutes for him to complete his tests, and he switched off the machine with a sigh. "As expected. Take a seat at my desk, and I'll explain everything."

Moving over to the seat in front of his desk, I saw that the screen there had gone black. However, once he took his seat behind his desk, he picked up a remote, and pressed a button that made it come to life again. This time, there was an image of an eye there, along with several words that I couldn't make sense of.

"Fujiko, do you mind? Ah, much better," he said, as his venomoth flitted down to look at the screen once more. "Now, young man, that is your right eye, as evidenced by the 'OD' on the top right of the screen."

I leaned in to get a closer look at the screen, and sure enough, it was as he said.

"On the outside, both of your eyes are fine. The nerve layers inside, however, are a different story altogether."

The image changed to that of a pinkish ribbon highlighted against a blurred black background. Small reddish lines were visible within the strip, along with a bright yellow disc of light somewhere near the middle of the pink area.

"Notice that the yellowish area seems very bright, and if you look closer, you'd see that the little red lines on the yellow are all skirting its edges. Go on, take a look," he went on, leaning back in his seat.

Once again, it was just as he'd said, and not for the first time, I wondered how he was able to see all that.

As I was leaning back in my seat, I saw his venomoth's eyes flashing with a purplish light, and a thought struck me. "Are you using your pokemon to see, somehow?"

He nodded, and offered me a smile, even as he raised his eyebrows. "Very clever. Yes, they see the images on the screen, and use their telepathy to transmit the images into my mind. It's been this way since that accident which cost me my eyes."

I couldn't help but gawk at him, which he must have 'seen', since he chuckled merrily just about then. "Oh, psychics do this all the time with prophecies, so I do wonder why everyone acts so surprised about it. Are you all that boring and uncreative these days?"

After a few seconds of me staring at him, he sighed, and shook his head. "You people are terrible, you know that? So, moving back to the topic of _your_ eyes.

"You saw that the yellowish area was large and bordered by red lines. That was the head of your optic nerve, and the red lines were blood vessels. This image indicates swelling of the nerve head, and isn't much different from what I observed in your left eye. Do you understand me?"

Mutely, I nodded, and he continued speaking.

"Now, a few years ago, I noticed that people with water affinities tended to develop problems involving the optic nerve during their later years. Further testing revealed, interestingly enough, that their nerves were become more sensitive to sight in dim environments, just like those of a nocturnal animal," he said, putting down the remote that controlled the television. "A few theories and a little reading later, I found a logical hypothesis.

"You see, the creatures of the deep tend to have poor vision in bright environments, which explains why the giant squid has such gigantic pupils. The stupid things are practically blind if they reach the ocean's surface, really! And if you know your biology, you even have the remnants of a third eye in your brain, which used to be able to see in dim environments."

"I do?" I asked him, reflexively reaching up and rubbing a finger against my forehead. Most of my high school biology had just about deserted me right then, so I was more than a little confused by that statement of his.

He nodded, and leaned back in his seat. "Indeed you do. We call it the pineal gland, and it regulates your sleep cycle by releasing a sleep-inducing hormone called melatonin. Fittingly enough, exposure to light tells the pineal gland to reduce the release of melatonin, which is why we aren't nocturnal by nature.

"Regressing a little to where I mentioned our third eye this is most likely due to evolution, from when we were amphibious and just starting to colonise land. The sea is where all life originated from, and so during that transition period, we developed a third eye to allow us some sight while submerged."

He stopped speaking, and patted his mothim on the head as it landed on his left shoulder. The moth pokemon nuzzled his ear with its curled proboscis, and slowly flapped its wings, generating a light breeze that moved the papers on his desk a little.

"So, in the case of you folks with an affinity for water, your eyes seem to be moving back to their evolutionary roots, so to speak. You'd be blind, in the conventional sense of the term, but when in dark areas, you'd probably see much better than the average human being or perhaps even those with affinities for ghosts or darkness."

I frowned. "You seem uncannily familiar with this topic, doctor."

He shrugged and offered me a small smile. "Well, my area of specialty since I lost my sight was the optical relationship between pokemon and humans. You might not have realised this, but thanks to Fujiko and Fujio here, I'm possibly the first human to be able to understand what it's like to have compound eyes."

Briefly, he paused, and let out a happy sigh. "And with Nobi, my yanmega, I can see what the world looks like through a thousand eyes, even while flying at supersonic speed."

The mental image of the world as seen through a multitude of eyes, like the monitors back at the security room at port control, made me a little dizzy. "I'll pass on that."

"Alas, it's not for everyone!" he harrumphed. "So, the problem with your eyes is basically a neural degeneration that seems to only manifest in water-attuned trainers. It seems to have come about earlier, though, which leads me to believe that you have been extensively exposed to telepathic stimulus."

"So I won't be going blind?" I asked him, all but holding my breath.

"I doubt it," he said, shaking his head. "The patients I first diagnosed with this problem are _effectively_ blind in daylight, but are currently capable of seeing even in pitch black conditions. One of them could, after some training, distinguish certain colours in dim lighting."

Relief washed over me like a breaking wave as I sank back in my chair. My head was spinning with the sheer magnitude of the news I'd just been given – I wasn't going blind!

"You're taking the news remarkably well," Doctor Harada commented, as he picked up a pen and started to scribble something out on a pad, as his mothim crawled over to focus its attention on the paper. "I'm prescribing you sunglasses fitted for your long-sightedness, which should help you read better in bright areas. And yes, you'll need to wear them indoors, even, if the need arises."

Hoo, boy. Silas and General Harding were going to have a laugh at that. I could hear the pimp jokes already.

xxx

As the good doctor had predicted, my eyesight improved significantly with a simple pair of sunglasses, albeit a pair with some power in them for my long-sight or whatever it was I had. I no longer had to squint to read signs or even printed documents, which was a relief. And who could forget me being able to ogle every piece of eye candy that passed by me since no one could see where I was looking?

Being able to nap during staff meetings was also amusing, even though I often missed on on announcements meant for General Harding. Served that bastard right for making me attend them in his place while he went of and shagged General Fen or what sometimes seemed to be half the male population of Canalave, anyway.

Speaking of the lovable bastard I called my commanding officer, his initial reaction to me wearing sunglasses was indeed a pimp joke. He had taken a single look at me, and had simply asked me where my rhinestone-studded white glove and white cane with a golden ball at its tip were.

"At least now you look even more… oh, never mind," he'd remarked, causing General Fen to snicker into his lunch.

"Yes, sir?" I asked politely, raising my eyebrows. That sent him into a giggling fit, and his long-suffering friend – also known as our resident steel specialist – just about smacked him into complete miffed silence.

General Fen gave me one of his signature carnivorous smirks, and winked. "I believe 'fuckalicious' was the word dear Zachary here was looking for. And I wouldn't raise my eyebrows like that if I were you – you look like a horny bastard all right, when you do that."

And if you thought their reactions were amusing, Silas' would have probably won some kind of award. He narrowed his eyes at me, and stuck his tongue out ramrod-straight like a poker.

"_Trainer, you look like a retarded venonat,"_ he declared, followed by a snappy withdrawal of his tongue and a fit of laughter that was so intense bubbles started leaking out between the two halves of his shell. When I rapped on his shell to check if he was alright, I received a blast of ice-cold water to my face.

Really, it was almost as if these people – and Silas – hadn't seen a bloke wearing sunglasses before!

xxx

"Again?" the pharmacist asked, looking mildly surprised as she rang up my purchase. "Young man, are you running a harem or something?"

"No, ma'am," I shook my head as I grinned at her and picked up the bag containing enough latex and gel to film the pornographic equivalent of the epic of Gilgamesh.

Apparently, the market for guys in sunglasses was hot in Canalave, and within a month of me getting into 'pimp mode' as General Harding so eloquently put it, even Moira Hew and her cougar buddies were wondering if I was breaking into the female market.

xxx

Six months after the Jubilife terrorist attack, my mother still hadn't woken up. I visited her at the hospital every night, and usually read by her bedside until the nurses there shooed me off. After the first two weeks, they gave up on sending me home once visiting hours ended, and only insisted I go home to get some sleep and a shower.

When Allan was finally deemed sane enough to be released from his pokeball and into my custody, I just about found myself being completely exhausted by the time I hit the sack. I was all but completely celibate during his first week of him getting accustomed to being taken care of by me, and the blue balls didn't help, either.

Thankfully, my glasses hid the dark circles around my eyes from General Harding.

Silas, however, knew just how tired I was, and so we ended up spending most nights after visiting Mom just relaxing on my bed, while Allan went out to terrorise the children of Canalave. He had regained some semblance of his old sense of humour, which did make me feel a little better, no matter how bad that might have sounded.

The little bastards needed some fear in their lives, anyway.

On the ninth month after the bombing, during a thunderstorm, there was a city-wide blackout in Canalave. Not long after the lights came back on, the night watchman at the dormitory called for me with urgent news from the hospital.

I don't remember being particularly distraught over it, but in Silas words, complete with a downcast expression:

"_Trainer, you… you just sat down. And you brought your knees to your chest, and took off your glasses. And you just… sat there until Allan asked you for permission to see her one last time._

"_And then you started crying."_


	38. Crack

**Chapter 37 – Crack**

Somehow, after crying my lungs out that night when they told me about Mom's passing, I didn't really feel anything at all.

Time passed by, and life went on, with me politely turning down the compassionate leave offered to me by General Harding. I did the usual things people did when a family member died – she certainly couldn't choose between burial and cremation in her current state – and turned up for work the next morning, thankful at the back of my mind that my sunglasses hid my red eyes.

People might have offered apologies, and I don't know if that would have been worse for me than having to deal with my mother's death thanks to a blackout. A fucking blackout! Seriously, I couldn't think of any other way to die that sucked as much as a blackout. It must've been a karmic joke of some kind.

After the first three days, I was, believe it or not, back to normal as far as my trains of thought and emotions went. Even Silas and General Harding were a little quieter around me than they usually were, although I did catch Adrienne casting furtive glances at me several times.

In time, I realised that I _did_ feel something after all. And all it took for me to understand just what that feeling was had been a remark by General Harding that I was looking a little thinner than usual.

I was _tired_.

Sleep didn't seem to reduce my fatigue much, and my caffeine intake was starting to reach the level of being unhealthy. The people I usually encountered at the hostel started remarking that I was looking increasingly haggard, and Silas started offering me his fish slices again.

It didn't take long for Allan to confess that he had been using Dream Eaters on me to make sure I had a good night's sleep, and that was only after I'd found him collapsed on my bed, apparently hallucinating.

Hearing that Silas had put him up to it did little to make me feel better. If anything, it got me torn between wanting to kill him for letting that sadistic ghost back into my head, and hugging him for doing what I might have been tempted to do had our roles been reversed.

On the seventh day after we'd sent Mom off for the last time, we ended up sleeping in a massive pile-up on the floor. Allan and I were just dead on our feet, and Silas had started being the one ordering us to eat by then.

Who would've thought it, huh? The little bastard turns out to be the one looking out for me, and to think I nearly boiled him once.

And of course, there was General Harding.

Fate must have had a real twisted sense of humour, since he was the one who noticed Silas being uncharacteristically silent at the office, and who had subsequently started mothering me in place of my starter. He'd sent Allan off to stay with General Fen, since his metagross was more than capable of handling a mourning ghost's eccentricities, and had all but shifted into my room to ensure that I was getting enough sleep.

He was serious about it, too. One night, when I had refused to sleep, he'd given me a shot of some kind of sedative, which I only realised as I started getting drowsy while I tried to wring his neck. Commanding officer or not, no one stuck me and survived, or so I thought until I collapsed in front of him, one hand already wrapped around his neck.

The next morning, I'd woken up on my bed, and had found him sleeping on the floor beside my bed. He'd hijacked my pillow, and Silas was sleeping on his chest like he used to do on mine before all the madness started. In his sleep, General Harding almost appeared to be as worn out as I was.

It was a sight that all but broke my heart. Had I really fallen that far?

Where was I going?

What was I going to do?

I'd draped my blanket over him, and prepared for work. No one questioned me when I called him in sick, and for the first time since I'd walked in on him and General Fen about to get laid, I was alone at the office.

After a full day of work, I'd returned to the hostel, and found a cheerful but tired Silas waiting for me in a bucket of water. My blanket had been neatly folded and placed over my pillow at the foot of my bed, too. The note stuck to my cupboard's door only had a large, hand-drawn smiley-face on it, but it was enough.

General Harding, Silas, and I got smashed out of our heads that night, and it was glorious. Don't ask how we got Silas intoxicated, though.

xxx

If you saw my left upper arm three nights after The Sleepover, as we'd started to refer to that one night, you'd have seen the phrase _Amigos Para Siempre_ wrapped around it in black italics. And if you had gone over to look at General Harding's left upper arm, you'd have found the same thing.

General Fen took no offense at that, since he was more than a little afraid of needles despite his affinity for steel, and we had a good laugh over Silas pouting that he wouldn't have minded a tattoo, either.

Just a few days later, though, I chanced across General Fen during one of my workouts, and the Chinese characters on his right bicep gleamed with the clarity of a fresh tattoo. It didn't surprise me when, just hours later, I saw a matching inscription on General Harding, in that same spot.

That night, I burned the folder which I'd hidden behind my cupboard, which contained all the proof that Silas and I had gathered on the murder of Tammy Silvas.

xxx

The fifth week after they cremated Mom found me going to work and getting an unusual surprise as soon as I stepped into General Harding's office – he was there before me, and he was awake.

"Sir?" I called out, feeling a little unsure if I was hallucinating due to a lack of sleep the night before. "Is that you?"

He looked up from the letter he had been reading, and frowned. "No, it's the local fairy princess. You alright?"

"Just a little tired," I shrugged, as I sat down and unstrapped Silas from my hard hat. "So, what brings you to work this early?"

"Well…," he let his voice trail off. "It seems we have a little bit of a situation here. Alright, scratch that, there's a major situation going on all over which you don't have to worry about, and a smaller situation involving you specifically."

I grimaced, even as Silas spoke up.

"_Sweet Arceus, can't a guy get a break? His mother just died, and I don't know if you missed it, but so did his father, not too long ago!_"

Hearing that little outburst made General Harding and I turn to stare at him, which resulted in a massive raspberry being blown in General Harding's direction by that incorrigible mollusk. _"What?"_

"You're a good pal, Silas," I said, feeling rather than hearing my voice cracking a little. "… Thanks."

General Harding reached out and patted him on the shell. "Soup pots aside, you two have come a long way.

"And I know it's a rough time, but you're being transferred out of here by the end of the week."

_That_ certainly got my attention. "What?"

He held up the letter he'd been reading, and sighed. "Remember anything from boot camp? How the commandos recruit, perhaps?"

"I remember turning them down in favour of affinity training," I replied, feeling the beginnings of a headache somewhere between my eyes. "But, no, I don't know how they selected me."

"Well, there are the usual criteria for physical and mental fitness, and the skills to go with them," General Harding said, sliding the letter across the top of his desk towards me. "But they like to choose those who've got nothing to lose, if you get my drift."

Wordlessly, I took the letter, and read it. As he had said, it was a transfer order from the commando unit, and it briefly mentioned my 'orphan status', in the letter's own words. I was to be sent to the training base at Mount Coronet, not too far from the basic training camp where I'd started my military career.

I held out the letter to General Harding, the irony of the whole scenario not lost on me. There I was, Mister Let's-Transfer-Elsewhere-After-Failing-to-Get-My-C ommanding-Officer-Arrested, all silent and feeling clueless about my future as soon as the powers that be actually decided to transfer me out. To the commandos, to boot – why they'd want someone with the human equivalent of an octillery's eyes was beyond me, though.

"Need help packing?" General Harding asked, not unkindly. "Or a couple of days leave, perhaps? You know, have a good walk, a few decent meals before they stick you in the commando meat-grinder."

Surprised for the third time in the space of fifteen minutes, I could barely hear my own response. "That's fine, but I think I'll just take the last day here. Maybe I'll go there one day earlier and get settled."

General Harding nodded, and slid another sheet of paper across the desk. "Done."

"Eh?" I read the document, and saw that it was a leave application form, dated for the day before I was due to be at Coronet. "How did you-"

He offered me a small smile, and for a moment, I was reminded of the framed photograph on General Fen's desk of the two of them from their training days; the two of them had been perched on a branch and had a seviper draped out over their laps for some reason.

"I'm not half as clueless as I look, rookie."

"Thanks, sir," I said, as I picked up the form. "It's… something."

"Not a problem," he shook his head. "So, let's head down to the docks, shall we? Whatever for, you'll have to remind me, though."

What probably was half of a bemused snort made it out of me as I reached for the file which contained the day's paperwork. That man was seriously beyond salvation, he was.

General Harding's voice cut into my thoughts before they could settle down, though.

"Say, have you been finding any worms in apples recently? They're all over the place."

I froze. "I'm sorry?"

He looked me in the eyes, looking perfectly at ease yet, with a steely glint in his eyes that made me uncomfortable. "Eh, just a problem with some apples I had recently. Nearly ate the worm, too, since I couldn't see it."

Well, fuck. "No sir, I can't say that I've had that problem. Anyway, I'll need to retrieve that folder from Persiamon before we can head to the docks, so shall I?"

"Go ahead, kid," he said, cocking his head to his left, as I got up and walked to the door.

Oh, very clever indeed. When I got to the door, I shut it quickly, yet silently – couldn't risk bringing in the entire floor's security detail into the office, now, could I?

"Silas, mist the room," I ordered, as I turned about and pulled out the switchblade I kept in my pocket.

"_Any starting point?"_ he asked, even as tendrils of cold vapour started creeping out from his shell.

General Harding pointed lazily to the top of his bookshelf. "It's there."

"An ice beam, then. Let's freeze the little bugger."

Silas did as he was instructed, and within ten seconds, the dokunemon was revealed, its invisibility literally having been stopped cold by Silas' ice beam. The worm-like digimon had clearly been headed for the door, and if it had been just a little quicker on the uptake, we'd probably have missed it.

Funnily enough, while they could turn invisible, dokunemon still cast shadows.

"So, sir, what's up?" I turned to General Harding. "And just what are we going to do with that thing?"

He merely stared at the frozen digimon for a few seconds before shrugging. "Put it in a garbage bag and take it down to the cafeteria; the incinerator hatch is next to the sinks, and they'll be firing it up in about… twenty minutes."

As I reached up and hauled the slippery block of ice off the top of the shelf, I asked, "And why did you want the bug removed?"

"Kingsley Desjardins is dead."

I nearly dropped the ice. _"What?"_

General Harding lowered his voice, and gestured for me to take a seat. "That terrorist attack on the radio towers didn't just gut our broadcasting capabilities, kid. According to the Game Masters, it was done as a broad sweep to ensure that they killed Desjardins."

My head was starting to spin as realisations set in, one after another. "So they destroyed the broadcasting hubs on five _continents_ to get _one_ man out of the way?"

"It's not that simple," he replied, lips drawing together tightly. "Desjardins was the Grand Admiral in charge of all communications, not just the mass media. With him dead, every bit of information we have flying about along wires, in cyberspace, and on papers is starting to fall apart."

"But they rerouted the broadcasts-"

"He didn't just write the news, kid, he _coordinated_ it. All of our news used to be written a month before the actual release."

That revelation hit me like a tonne of bricks. If Grand Admiral Desjardins had been spin-doctoring our news in such a manner, over such a long period of time… "They're running out of pre-recorded news, aren't they?"

General Harding nodded, and ran a hand through his hair. "The last of his tailored releases is being broadcasted next Wednesday."

For a long while, we just sat there in silence, staring at the frozen dokunemon. Silas was also on the table, wide-eyed and quiet for once. The only sound in the office was the steady dripping of water off the table as the ice block with our hapless captive continued to melt.

"… And you're telling me this now, sir?" I asked General Harding softly. "Why?"

He leaned back and sighed. "Intelligence warned us to expect mass confusion and public hysteria by next Thursday night. All units have been instructed to prepare for crowd control by that afternoon. Get my drift?"

It didn't take long for me to get to where he was hinting at, and when I did get there, all I could do was rub my temples in an attempt to soothe the headache that had started going at full-force. "Yes, sir."

"Carry on then, my good man," he said dismissively, as he nudged the wormsicle towards me. "Incinerator's starting in eight minutes."

xxx

I had just finished with dumping the dokunemon into the incinerator – the cafeteria staff had started it up exactly at eight-fifteen like they did every day, unfortunately ending the wretched worm's life as they did so – when the commotion started. As I passed through the reception area and was about to head back up the stairs to General Harding's office, I saw that a crowd had already formed at the base of the wall where the updates and news were always projected.

To my surprise, none other than Howard Beale was there on the wall.

"What's going on?" I asked an engineer, as I joined the crowd and watched the government's most senior newscaster clear his throat and shuffle several sheets of paper.

She shrugged, not looking away from the projection. "No idea, man. Suddenly the dock timetables all vanish, and Beale's there. News isn't due for another four hours or so-"

Beale started speaking right then, effectively silencing all who were present.

"Good morning, citizens of Earth," he said, his voice carrying a note of – was it uncertainty? – that I'd not heard from him since the days of the Revolution, back when I had been in school. "This is a special news bulletin, and we're hoping that all of you are awake to see it. Otherwise, our viewers in what used to be America would probably miss the vital information that we're about to deliver-"

He was interrupted by a series of muted thudding noises that came from somewhere off-screen, which must have unsettled him, since he started casting worried glances towards his left and mopping at his brow – now visibly sweaty – with one of his signature handkerchiefs.

"As I was saying, we have a vital bit of information to deliver, and this may very well be our last broadcast. Even as I speak, the troops outside the door are attempting to break through into the studio and silence us-"

Cue more thudding, but louder this time. Beale's voice took on a hurried tone when he started speaking again.

"Grand Admiral Kingsley Desjardins is dead, ladies and gentlemen of Earth."

The silence in the room somehow held, and my gut started tying itself into knots as I understood what was going on. What I was seeing at that moment, and it certainly wasn't the morning news.

"We have spread the government's lies for years, ever since the Revolution," Beale said, speaking more animatedly now, and finally looking like the fiery broadcaster he was known for being. "And now, we shall have no more of that bullshit.

"Our planet has been taken from us, our lives taken from us, our very society cowed into being sycophants for the digimon government and their lackeys! The hour has _come_, ladies and gentlemen-"

Right then, what sounded like a muffled cannon-blast echoed through the speakers mounted next to the projection wall, causing several people to clap hands over their ears as the very floor of the reception area was shaken. Beale's image wavered and abruptly shifted into black and white tones as the camera swung away from him, now aimed at the blast doors leading into the news studio.

"See for yourselves, ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted, his voice somehow still audible despite the unmistakable sounds of explosions on the other side of the blast doors, which were starting to smoke. "Here they come, the dictatorial scum of the Earth! Here come the gutless bastards who sold us out to the digimon despots, who stole our very world from us!

"I don't know about you, but I'm mad as Hell, and I'm not taking this any long-"

Beale didn't get to finish his signature quote, as the blast doors were breached by an explosion which sent the screen into a dazzling display of static. We could still hear the drama unfolding in the studio, however, and my blood ran cold as I took in the sounds of what was, without a doubt, the culling of Howard Beale and his treasonous news crew.

The image feed suddenly picked up again, and the camera must have been lying on its side on the floor, since the image we were seeing was one of a room turned perpendicularly to the right. Smoke was billowing over what we could see of the far side of the room, and a black-suited commando could be seen rushing past the ruins of Beale's desk. Suddenly, the camera was jerked to one side, giving us a momentary glance at the collapsed blast doors and the smoke-filled corridor beyond them.

I might have been mistaken, but I could have sworn that during that brief sweep across the corridor, I saw a pair of red eyes glowing brightly through the smog. But the camera stopped spinning about while its lens was aimed at what appeared to be the bloody remains of a person, and a red dot started flashing at the top right corner of the screen as we saw it.

Screams were abruptly cut short, things crashed to the ground, and what sounded like a machinegun started firing. Panicked cries of surrender were silenced by the machinegun, seconds before the broadcast was finally stopped. The projection wall went white, and the speakers went silent.

We stood there, shocked, until five seconds later, when the civil defense alarms went off. Everyone seemed to be trying to go everywhere all at once, and the crowd in the reception area very quickly turned into nothing less than a mob.

The speakers came to life once again, and this time, it was General Reardon's voice booming through them. "Riot control to the gates, pronto. Docks are under lockdown, and we're going to Code Red. This is not a drill, people – move your asses."

Somehow, she managed to sound as if she was reading from a shopping list instead of getting us into lockdown mode.

By the time port control got locked down and we were all in position, the first wave of rioters had already gotten to the gates.


	39. Changes

**Chapter 38 – Changes**

For the first time since I arrived in Canalave, I saw the massive grille gates sliding shut, cutting off the angry mob before they could get into the compound. The gate sentries were not two feet away from the crowd, and yet, they somehow managed to appear as impassive as ever.

As I watched from the rooftop, where Canalave's resident generals and their assistants were assembled, I felt a heavy weight in my gut, like a sinking stone. Sure, I had been there when the terrorists attacked Canalave, but this was a full-scale _riot_.

Somehow, the situation had degenerated to the point that it was us against the _people_. People we had sworn to protect and serve.

"All right, people!" snapped General Williams. "Evacuation will commence in ten minutes for ranking personnel, but until then, we'll have to hold the fort here. Standing orders are to minimize casualties-"

"Belay that, general," came Mummymon's rasping voice, causing the ten of us to turn as one to face him. Sure enough, Arukenimon was beside him, and the two of them were in their humanoid forms. "Our orders are to stop the riot. No mention was made of keeping the body count down."

"Are you mad?" hissed General Reardon, even as her electivire cracked its knuckles and glared at the two digimon. "Things are bad enough-"

Arukenimon cut her off. "If minimizing casualties reduces efficiency-"

"Shut it, you old crone!"

Everyone just about froze at that. The cargo elevator had just arrived at the rooftop and none other than Moira Hew was casually strolling towards us. She was flanked by her battered old bronzong and scizor, and she did not look happy.

Arukenimon opened her mouth and was about to say something, but started swaying on the spot, instead. Mummymon put a hand on her shoulder, and she collapsed to the ground in a heap.

He recoiled, visibly alarmed. "What-"

In the blink of an eye, he was up in the air, his garbled curses barely audible to us. Suddenly, he went silent, and floated slowly to the ground, landing just shy of going over the building's edge.

"Aunty!" General Fen gasped. "You didn't!"

Moira, chin held high, folded her arms across her chest. "I could and I did, Tiny. Now, those folks down there are our people, and we'll be handling the riot control, not these… aliens.

"And now, I believe you remember that gravity trick I taught you?"

General Fen stared at her for a moment, before regaining his composure and nodding. "Got it. Is Gauss ready?"

"Always," answered Moira, as her bronzong floated up to General Fen's side.

"That settles it, then," said General Reardon, sounding relieved. "Moira, Fen, you two settle the crowd at the gates. Claire, you and I will handle the evacuation. Zachary… you know what to do, right?"

General Harding merely nodded, a pokeball already in his hand. "Come on then, rookie. We've got a crowd to bring under control."

"Aren't Moira and General Fen handling that?" I asked him, as we walked briskly to the cargo elevator. "Sir?"

"Gravity only goes so far," he replied dismissively. "We'll have to bring out the tear gas."

Oh, shit.

xxx

By the time we got to the gates, the mob was even more frenzied than it had been not five minutes ago. The grilles were being quite literally shaken out of shape, and the gate sentries weren't anywhere near as composed as they had been, either – they had their transparisteel shields out, along with their impact batons.

Even as we made it to the security station near the boundary wall, more rioters seemed to be arriving, if the noise level was any indicator. The gates were bending inwards, and seemed to be moments away from being broken open.

General Harding whistled into a walkie-talkie, and a klaxon sounded from somewhere behind us. Within seconds, General Reardon's voice was echoing out across the compound.

"CITIZENS, DISPERSE. THIS IS YOUR FIRST AND LAST WARNING. I REPEAT, DISPERSE."

If anything, the rioters became even more manic.

General Harding gestured to the chief sentry and I, and we activated port control's outer defenses. Wall-mounted tear gas batteries slid out of their hiding places, and screams of pain and outrage were heard as an electric current coursed through the badly damaged gate. Sparks flew as the gate short-circuited, and finally, its locks gave way.

Shouting rioters surged through the parted gates and all but tackled the gate sentries. There were several flashes of light, and beside me, General Harding let out a curse as several pokemon materialized, none of them ours.

"Fuck! Gas them!"

I flipped the necessary switches, and within seconds, clouds of tear gas were billowing out into the mob. Cries out outrage were replaced by coughing, gasping, and confused shouts as the gas worked its magic on the crowd.

Our own sentries struggling to get out of the gassing zone didn't escape my notice, either.

Suddenly, the crowd seemed to slow down. People dropped like sacks of potatoes and bird pokemon plummeted down to joint their trainers on the ground. Some tried to crawl towards port control, but seemed to run up against an invisible barrier of some sort.

"Sir, what…" I started to ask General Harding, only to find myself staring as the tear gas started forming what appeared to be a solid barrier between us and the mob. "Sir?"

"Fen and Moira must've gotten a barrier up," he replied, eyes still on the cameras monitoring the tear gas batteries. "And I think we've given them enough gas; cut it, but keep it on standby."

My hands had just reached the switches when part of the boundary wall collapsed with a muffled explosion of concrete dust.

"What the Hell?" the chief sentry swore, as what felt like an earthquake shook the ground beneath our feet. "Gravity pull my arse!"

It was then that the onix surged out of the dust cloud, trailing debris. We froze, hardly believing our eyes, as the rock snake reared up and brought its body down on another section of the wall. Mortar crumbled and steel cables were mangled as it rampaged.

General Harding recovered first. "Code Black!"

The words had barely made it through to my head before the onix's tail swept out in a wide arc, tearing through half of the sentry post. It caught one of the sentries, and sent the man's broken body flying out over the compound.

"_What the fuck are you waiting for?_" General Harding bellowed. "CODE BLACK!"

My trembling hands somehow managed to get to the emergency controls, and I flipped open the security panel. For a moment, time seemed to stop, as I realised what I was about to do.

"Do it!" a sentry shouted, as he opened fire on several pokemon that had made it through the demolished wall. "We haven't got all day, kid!"

I slammed my fist down on the black switch, and watched as panels on port control's front walls slid open to reveal some weaponry I'd only ever heard of during briefings. They looked like bizarre cameras, and rolled out of their housings with deceptively smooth movements. And yet, those same machines held enough power to disintegrate a tank or throw it fifty feet back, depending on how you programmed them.

Just as the onix coiled itself up and prepared to strike at the building itself, the multicannons opened fire.

Arcs of blue light fanned out over our heads and into the crowd as we scrambled out of the collapsing sentry booth. Rioters, pokemon, and military personnel alike were being thrown off their feet by the dozens, and for the first time since the protest started, parts of the crowd started pulling back. Even the onix appeared to feel the blasts which hit it, as it was slowly pushed back, its heavy coils gouging out a massive furrow in the ground as it tried to plant itself in place.

"Move it, guys!" General Harding ordered, as we made our way past the firing radius of the multicannons. "And someone get Fen on the line-"

Abruptly, the cannons stopped firing.

There was a great silence. General Harding took a look around, froze, and paled.

Not for the first time, I felt my gut twisting into knots. "What?"

"Sir?" one of our surviving sentries asked him. "Orders, sir!"

He remained rooted to the spot, even as the onix figured out that our defenses were down, and proceeded to dive headfirst into the building. Glass shattered and rained down all over the place, some of it barely missing us. The rioters resumed their relentless push towards the building.

Gritting my teeth, I grabbed him by the shoulder, and nodded to the sentry. "I'll get him to General Fen. You guys cover us, got it?"

"Understood!"

I all but hauled General Harding towards the building. "Snap out of it, sir! What the fuck's your _problem?_"

He shook me off, and glared at me, all traces of pallor abruptly disappearing from his expression.

"Knightmon, that's what!"

Two seconds. That was how long it took for my memory to match a digimon to the name. And from then on, I knew just how bad things were going to get.

With thundering footfalls, the clanking of metal joints, and the whine of motors, the knightmon sentinels emerged from their subterranean bunkers. There were only two of them, but the rioters seemed to hesitate upon seeing the two digimon monstrosities – and I couldn't blame them.

Armed with a sword as long as I was tall, and towering over us at twelve feet in height, the two digimon proceeded to literally grab the onix by the tail, and all but pulled it out of the hole it was making in port control. Foul-smelling ichor spurted out of the onix's ruptured hide as the mechanical creatures dug their armoured gauntlets into it, and ripped its tail off.

The onix went completely berserk, even as our reinforcements boiled out of the building like a swarm of angered ariados. Black-armoured commandos, MP's, and even dock workers spilled out and started fighting back against the crowd. Dozens were crushed as the knightmon carelessly threw the onix out of their way, and started taking a few test swings with their swords.

I felt bile rising in my throat as I saw more than a handful of people, pokemon, and digimon getting cleaved in two by the knightmons. "Oh, gods."

"We need to get to the roof," General Harding urged me, as the knightmon started carving their way into the front of the crowd. "Come on!"

Numbly, I followed him at a run into the main building, through the massive hole created by the onix. Behind us, I could hear screams and gunshots as the knightmon had their bloodthirsty way with the rioters.

"TRAITORS!"

We were just about to reach the emergency lift-pad at the side of the building when the man tackled General Harding to the ground. I barely had to time to wonder how he'd made it into the building before his kangaskhan backhanded me across my chest and sent me flying into a wall.

The wall collapsed in a mess of cheap plasterboard, and I ended up falling backwards onto what sounded like a lot of breaking glass. I bit back a scream as I felt something sharp digging into my side, and tried to reach for my sidearm, only to see the kangaskhan looming over me.

It bellowed and raised a clawed foot to stomp on me. At the last moment, what looked like a metallic cable shot through the air and looped around its neck, jerking it backwards and unbalancing it.

"General Harding!" Persiamon's voice called out, even as Castor the whimsicott sprang off her shoulder and sent a cluster of Leech Seeds at the downed kangskhan, which Ford was dutifully binding down with even more webbing. "Unhand him, you, you _animal!_"

The burly man who my boss was grappling with let out a curse when he caught sight of her. "Digimon scum!"

He dished out a vicious headbutt, and by the looks of it nearly took General Harding's head off his shoulders. General Harding crumpled to the ground in a heap, and the man wheeled about to face Persiamon, his expression lighting up with malice.

"Go back to Data, you sick bastards!"

Persiamon offered him a cold glare in return. "Fuck off, grasshopper."

In the blink of an eye, she had closed the two-meter gap between them, and snapped his neck with a spinning kick. Landing on her feet just as a meowth might have done after jumping off a windowsill she dusted off her shoulders, and offered me a hand.

Her eyes turned fearful when she saw me aiming my pistol at her. She hesitated, but just for a second, before lunging at me.

I pulled the trigger and shot the golbat that had been about to swoop down behind her, just as she landed on me and grabbed me by the neck. The bat pokemon's bloody remains fell to the ground not a meter away from where I lay, its wings still twitching feebly. She nodded in thanks, visibly relieved.

Only then did we notice just how quiet it had become.

"Wha-" I asked, my voice slurring as my throat recovered from her grabbing it and attempting to throttle me.

She cast a furtive glance past the hole we'd entered the building through, and recoiled slightly. "Just relax, alright? It's… nothing."

"Persiamon!" I grated, as I tried to prop myself up, wincing as whatever it was I had piercing my side shifted about. "What. Is. It."

Her answer shut me up in one sentence and two syllables.

"The end."

xxx

It took a while, but by the time everything was more or less back under control, ten hours later, the full extent of Howard Beale's little stunt with the morning news finally became evident. Riots had broken out all over the continent, and the admiralty had authorized the release of the two knightmon assigned to each military installation. They had cleaned up the riots neatly enough, but their methods left little doubt as to why even the digimon feared unleashing their mechanical fury.

Between the sixteen cities where riots had taken place, a total of twelve thousand had died. And that was just the humans, from what body parts the cleanup crews could piece together.

When General Harding had returned to consciousness and I had debriefed him – even as a medic stitched up my side and Silas watched with wide eyes – he had buried his face in his hands, and groaned.

"The training population has been _spoiling_ for a fight, and the government just gave them a reason to start one," he spat. "What were they _thinking?_"

"Maybe they weren't thinking," I hissed in pain as I sat up, causing the medic working on me to give me a dirty look. "But jeez, twelve _thousand?_"

"Just an early estimate," nodded the medic, looking haggard. "Almost done… there. Keep still or the stitches will tear, got it?"

For a while, we sat there in silence, watching the medics tend to the wounded, and the cleanup crews bringing in what seemed to be more and more body bags. After some time, Silas spoke up.

"_So what's going to happen now?_"

He and I turned to look at General Harding, who frowned, and shrugged.

"Official protocol is that if the knightmon get released, martial law gets implemented. They weren't supposed to be released for anything less than a full-blown terrorist attack on a military base, really."

"This is all so fucked up," I muttered, as I picked up Silas and hugged him like a cushion. "So… when will the emergency meeting be?"

General Harding grimaced. "Five minutes ago, actually. Shall we?"

xxx

The emergency meeting was a long one, and as General Harding had said, the top brass decided to put martial law in effect.

All non-military personnel were confined to residential areas until further notice, pending the clearing of debris and cadavers off the streets.

No one was allowed outdoors between six p.m. to seven a.m. without official clearance.

All pokemon not actively involved in industrial trade and commerce were to be kept in their pokeballs until further notice. The jury was out on whether they would be confiscated.

The construction of specialized camps for the detention of individuals suspected to be involved in terrorism was to begin the next day.

Military officers were to be granted temporary clearance to detain individuals deemed as suspicious without a warrant.

As Datamon and the other Grand Admirals continued to outline their plans via a hologram link, the people gathered in the conference room slowly began murmuring among themselves. Eventually, the murmuring made it to our side of the room, and what we heard did little to make things better.

Simply put, it was one in the morning.

Usually, the digimon would have been back in their sleeping chambers by that time of day, thanks to whatever unique radiation it was they needed every fifteen hours. Given that Datamon and quite a few of the admiralty were all based on Earth as opposed to the digimon planet, them being out of those chambers defied everything we thought we'd known about them.

Something was seriously wrong.

xxx

That night, none of us pokemon trainers who worked at port control slept. Even though the emergency meeting ended by about four in the morning, we all gathered at the docks – pretty much the only part of port control which had been spared during the riot – and mourned. It wasn't those killed by the knightmon whom we mourned, though.

We mourned the loss of Babamon.

During the riot, she had been in the underground vaults, recalling all the pokemon kept there into their pokeballs and securing them into a blast-proof chamber. When the onix started rampaging, though, the resulting earthquakes had dislodged a bank of floodlights, which had fallen on her and pinned her down. Unable to move or call for help, she had bled to death down in the vaults, with a handful of pokemon she had yet to recall by her side.

When they found her, she had been clutching one of her customary packets of Marlboro cigarettes, and several of the noxious-smelling things were scattered around her other hand. It seemed that she hadn't even managed to get one last puff in before she had died.

So there we were at four in the morning, on the docks, gathered around a shipping crate that was Babamon's makeshift coffin. Several digimon were there, too, and Persiamon was one of them.

"Babamon must have really loved this world," she sniffed, as the crate was closed over Babamon's broken body. "She could have opted for reincarnation, but she didn't now, did she?"

We bowed our heads, acknowledging Babamon's last choice. It was true – all digimon only truly died if they chose to let their spirits depart the mortal plane, so to speak. And the crate before us made it clear which option she had gone for, in the end. She might have been born a digimon, but as far as we were concerned right then… she was one of us.

And so the sealed crate was lowered into the sea, where it bobbed about like a cork. We all did an about-face, and looked away, closing our eyes. The thermite charges packed into the case were then detonated remotely, disintegrating all that was left of the person who had given me Silas.

Later, at about seven, when I was given a few minutes to grab a break and a bite, General Harding asked me for a word in private.

"Alright, kid," he said, sounding as tired as I'd heard him sound since I'd started being his assistant, "it seems Babamon actually raised a few pokemon of her own. Of course, those pokemon are now orphans, and… well, one of them asked if you'd take it in."

"Say what?" I asked him, wearily. "A pokemon asking for _me _to adopt it? I take it he or she hasn't heard of the soup pot incident with Silas."

"_I am a male, thank you very much. And Babamon called me Newton_," said a calm voice from somewhere behind me. "_She spoke most highly of you_."

With a sigh, I turned around, and saw… nothing. "Where are you, then?"

"_Look down!_"

I looked down, and sure enough, there by my feet was… a wooper. While most wooper often had a big smile on their faces, this one looked more thoughtful than happy. "Oh."

General Harding patted me on my shoulder. "So, you'll take him?"

Shaking my head, I replied, "No. Silas is more than a handful, really. And what would I do with a second pokemon, anyway?"

"_I could make sure you take care of yourself, you know_," chirped the wooper. "_Babamon said you were a twit who tends to forget to take of yourself whenever you get stressed out, and Silas can't even walk around with you!_"

"What did she name you, again?" I raised an eyebrow at the precocious little thing.

"_Newton_," he replied, all but beaming at me.

"It's settled, then?" General Harding nodded. "Great!"

"Wait a minute-"

"Oh, shut up and take the newt. Think of it as a last favour to Babamon!"

And that was how, in the midst of what would turn out to be a pivotal point in things to come and Earth's history as a whole, I ended up with a wooper named Newton as my second pokemon.


	40. Coronet

**Chapter 39 – Coronet**

Surrounded by people at the Canalave train station, I stood alone, waiting for the nine-thirty train to leave.

Mechanics, armed guards, technicians, and various other personnel bustled about the fortified station, loading an armoured train with supplies meant for the military training facility at Mount Coronet. In the fifteen minutes since Aunty Moira had dropped me off at the station, I'd seen a dazzling array of materials being hauled into the bomb-proof train, ranging from crates of ammunition to sacks of pokemon chow. It was certainly an eye-opener, if not anything else.

Curiously enough, the first cargo compartment had yet to be loaded. A lone commando was standing guard next to it, black armour glistening like a beetle and casting glances about the area through a reflective visor. No way to know if the commando was male, female, or even human to begin with thanks to that armour, really.

Just as the large clock above the station master's office struck ten past nine, a small convoy of armoured trucks pulled up outside the station, the crowds parting before them faster than General Harding could waltz through port control. Everyone seemed to stop what they were doing as a dozen elite troops hopped out of the parked vehicles, and proceeded to unload a large, blast-proof shipping crate from the truck in the middle of the little group.

A commando stepped out of the truck once the crate had been off-loaded, and directed the troops towards the train. They pushed it onto the platform using what looked like a heavily-reinforced trolley, and were stopped by the commando next to the train when they pulled up in front of it.

"Had a smooth journey over from the docks?" the commando asked in a voice distorted into an electronic deadpan by acoustic filters in its helmet.

"Affirmative on that," nodded the second commando, as it walked up to the driver's compartment. "Cargo is intact and ready for transportation."

Silently, they watched the troops push the crate into the train's first cargo compartment. From where I stood on the platform, I saw that the insides of the compartment appeared to have been lined with foam padding, not unlike that used to cover the walls of my cell back when I was allegedly insane.

Strange.

Just as I was wondering what the mysterious cargo was, and why the compartment had been outfitted as it was, the station master sounded her usual shrill whistle, and the cargo compartments were sealed shut, one after the other.

Only then did the thought strike me: if all the compartments were to be used for cargo, where was I supposed to be during the train ride? No other trains were in sight or pending departure, as far as I could tell.

Approaching her, I held up my transfer orders. "Excuse me, Miss?"

She turned about, gave me the briefest of disinterested glances, and cocked her head in the train's direction. "You're the one shipping out for Coronet, aren't you? Get in front with the crate."

"Pardon me?" I asked her, wondering if what I had just heard was correct, and I was to be riding to Coronet with the strange cargo.

"Get in the compartment with the crate and the commando. Now be a darling, do like a banana, and split, alright?"

Rolling my eyes at how little sense everything made – as they seemed to all be, these days – I walked up to the commando who was still next to the first compartment's open hatch, and held up both of my hands to show it that I wasn't armed. "Station master says I'm to board your compartment."

For a moment, it fixed its invisible gaze on me through its visor. "Orders state two pokemon and one additional guard. Confirm?"

Yup, sounded like me, alright. "Affirmative on that. Me, a shellder, and a wooper."

"Get in," nodded the commando, stepping aside and keeping one hand on the handle of its combat knife. "You first."

Moving slowly so as to not alarm it into any drastic action, I hopped into the compartment, and turned around to face the platform. As was standard protocol was moving away from a commando, I walked backwards until I was up against the compartment's wall, keeping both of my arms raised above my head.

Silently, the commando nodded, and stepped into the compartment. It tapped a few keys on the compartment's control panel, causing the hatch to slide shut. Several more tapped buttons caused two collapsible benches to unfold out of the walls, and it sat down, gesturing for me to do the same.

Through a small screen next to the hatch, I saw the platform in miniature. The station master was there, waving at the driver, who was boarding the train along with the second commando.

Not a minute later, we started moving.

The commando and I sat in silence for a while as the train moved. I kept myself occupied by continuing my earlier train of thought regarding the contents of the mysterious cargo – now not three meters away from me – and watching the landscape outside through the screen on the wall, which showed footage from several cameras built into the exterior of the train.

Interestingly enough, I caught glimpses of what appeared to be several flying digimon keeping pace with the train, as well as a pair of helicopters. When the cameras offered a view of the areas around the track, I saw several military jeeps as well as a couple of tanks moving along, their weaponry pointing away from the train.

"Might as well let your pokemon out – it's going to be a long, boring ride."

The voice, expressionless as it was, snapped me out of my little reverie. I turned to look at the commando, who was, for lack of a better word, reclining in a corner of the compartment on its bench.

"Go on, then," it continued. "They'd make for additional security, if anything."

I shrugged. "If you say so."

Two flashes of light later found Silas and Newton on the floor in front of me, looking around their surroundings with wide eyes. They spared the commando a passing glance, and then decided to investigate the crate.

"_Trainer!_" Newton chirped happily. "_I see we have started on our journey!_"

"_Must you always be so upbeat?_" Silas blew a raspberry at him, narrowing his eyes as always. "_Trainer, what's in the box?_"

"Cute pokemon you have there," remarked the commando, sitting up a little straighter. "And I take it you've an affinity for water?"

"I…" Well, it _was_ a little overwhelming, really. "One at a time, please!

"Newton, we're headed to the camp at Coronet. Silas, I have no idea what's in the crate. And as for you, umm, unnamed commando, yes, I'm water-attuned. Used to be Zachary Harding's assistant."

"Hot damn!" replied the commando, jumping to its feet. "You _are_ talking about _the_ Zachary Harding, right?"

Now _that_ was certainly bewildering. "I believe there's only one, and thank goodness for _that_. What makes you ask?"

My travel companion sat back down, one hand over its armoured chest. "The man's a bloody legend, that's why! Sweet Arceus, how could you be his assistant and not know that?"

"He's crobatshit insane!" I retorted. "Do you know just how many times he's come to work without any clothes on? Or tried to molest me- hang on, more to him actually molesting me, really. And there's him being a hyperactive son of a-"

The commando spread its hands. "Well, he's Zack Harding, the Pornstar of Canalave! What else did you expect?

"And hold up there for a bit – you said that he molested you, right? Were you the guy who was involved in that threesome-"

"I am so not getting into a discussion about my former commanding officer's more eccentric antics in the bedroom, thank you very much!" I all but squeaked, feeling my face grow warm. "And you two better not say a word about that, either!"

Silas and Newton had turned from their inspection of the crate to fix me with wide eyes after General Harding's name had been mentioned, and Newton's rubbery smile appeared wider than it usually did.

"_Noted, Trainer!_" he said happily. "_As such, I shall not say one word about that incident, but many!_"

"_You weren't even there!_" Silas said haughtily. "_I'll be the one spilling the sordid details of Trainer's mating habits, not you! Now, you see-_"

"You two!"

"Attaboy!" cheered the commando, even as I flailed in my seat and tried to recall my two traitorous pokemon into their pokeballs. "Aww, you're no fun."

For while – a short while, but still – there was a blissful silence between the two of us.

And then, of course, Chatty the Commando decided to speak up again.

"So, I was told that you're only riding with us as far as the camp. Not going to the end of the line?" it asked, drawing its combat knife and flipping it about like a toy.

"Nah," I shook my head. "Marching orders were to report to Coronet's commando training unit."

"Oh? Which unit?"

I adjusted my glasses on the bridge of my nose. "Gimme a sec. Let's see… Inkblot."

What sounded like a muted buzz came from the commando's general direction. "Inkblot, Inkblot. I take it those sunglasses aren't just for outdoor use, then."

Turning back to look at it, I lowered my glasses and looked at it over the frame - a wonderfully intimidating gesture, for some. "Begging your pardon?"

A shrug. "Inkblot's one of the units specializing in night strikes, so all the guys there have real bad eyesight in daylight. Last I heard of it, the barracks was in this dim corner of the base camp, next to the explosives storage facility."

"That's comforting," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

"Anyway, the leader of the unit used to be a real charming shorty, callsign Ginger. Ghost-adapted," it added.

I nodded, and frowned as the full meaning of its words sank in. Poor eyesight. Night strikes. Ghost adaptation. To my knowledge, only a handful of affinities led to poor eyesight, and the majority of those I'd met or heard of with said affinities were hardly people you'd want to live and work with.

Psychics, ghosts, and dark-types. Bugs. Grounded pokemon. Poisonous creatures. Water, just like yours truly.

And then I remembered basic training, and some of the health issues associated with those same affinities. A knot formed in my gut as I recalled images of atrophied eyes, leaking sores, rotting teeth, skin as cracked as old leather, and a whole host of other diseases.

Very possibly, I was being sent to a unit manned by the dead and dying.

Sighing, I leaned back against the wall, watching the passing landscape through the screen that was our window to the outside world. The train was moving with what appeared to be deliberate slowness, and the escort vehicles were still rumbling along their routes a mere stone's throw from the tracks.

Periodically, the screen shifted camera angles to permit us a view from the top of the train, which gave me the chance to see just which areas we were passing through. By the looks of it, we were about a third of the way to base camp, if those low-roofed buildings along coast were any indication.

The fences of several makeshift detention facilities didn't escape my notice, either. We passed by a few of those, and I couldn't help but wonder if there were people I had known behind those fences.

Not that I had known that many people before I'd enlisted, but still.

A sharp whistle sounded somewhere in the compartment, and a voice spoke up through a speaker mounted on the ceiling.

"We're approaching the first checkpoint."

Through the screen, I saw the escort vehicles falling back, with others moving in to take their places. Similarly, the flying digimon that were our air support dropped back, to be replaced by a flock of fearow flying in formation.

"What's in the crate, anyway?" I asked the unusually silent commando.

It held a finger to its faceplate, presumably in front of its concealed lips. "That's classified."

Figures. I settled for toying with the thought of releasing Newton for a chat, but thought the better of it.

Out of boredom, I decided to talk to the commando. Again. "So, you'll be watching it until the end of the line. Anyone else stepping in as the second guard when they let me off?"

It gave me a nod. "Yes. Some kind of digimon, apparently."

After a moment's pause, it let out a low drone, which I would later learn was what a sign sounded like through a commando's helmet speakers. "Not that I dislike the digimon, but I'm hoping the one that they're sending in will be pleasant company.

"Just between you and me? It's almost as if they didn't trust us humans and pokemon any longer."

I raised an eyebrow at that. "You do realize we're under surveillance in here?"

A snort, identifiable even through an acoustic filter. "There aren't any recording devices in here, kid – the cargo would fry those thanks to the input feed."

It hesitated. "Perhaps I should kill you for that."

"Not my fault you had a big mouth!" I sniffed, as I cast a glance at the bulky crate in the compartment. Foam padding on the walls was most likely redundant given the blast-proof crate, but such crates weren't often used to transport radioactive materials of any sort…

Realisation hit me like a jeep driven by General Fen. "That's why the convoys are following us, aren't they? They can't keep an eye on the cargo, so they're watching the train.

"Wonder why they didn't fly it to the terminal at Coronet, then?"

All I got as my answer was a resolute silence from the commando.

Fuck it.

xxx

Two hours and three checkpoints later, at somewhere past one-thirty, we pulled up at the Coronet base camp. The station was nowhere near as heavily guarded as the Canalave station, but I spotted at least half a dozen commandos scattered about the place, and what looked like a few members from the explosives ordinance disposal teams.

So it seemed whatever was in the crate was some pretty dangerous stuff. Considering I might be spending the rest of my days bunking next to a bomb warehouse, though, that didn't really faze me.

Once the rest of the train had been unloaded, our compartment was unsealed. We were ordered to stand up against the wall, and two bomb disposal troops stepped in, equipment in tow.

"The cargo is intact?" asked the shorter of the two as it approached the crate. "No unusual sounds, lights, vibrations, or temperature changes during transit?"

"Negative on all of those," replied the commando I'd had to travel with. "Cargo is secure."

With a slight nod, the two disposal experts pulled out their equipment and began inspecting the cargo. It only took a few minutes, but the tension in the air was easily heavy enough to outweigh a snorlax.

"Very well," declared the taller troop, as they started to pack up their equipment. "We're getting an all-clear, so the kid can disembark."

They left the compartment, and I hopped out behind them. My duffel bag was nearby, on top of a large, empty cage. I walked up to the cage, wondering what it was there for, when what sounded like a muted thunderclap made itself heard on the platform.

Everyone seemed to freeze on the spot, except for their heads, which turned, almost as one, to view the muscle-bound creature that had just stepped out of the station master's office.

It was easily seven feet tall, and had skin that was a dark shade of green. Rusted chains criss-crossed its torso like a metallic toga, and a massive battle-axe was strapped to its back. Numerous screws and bolts protruded out of the pitted and scorched metal mask that covered its face, and its fists were wrapped in what looked like barbed wire. Even the creature's loincloth appeared to be made of metal, resembling the chain-mail worn by medieval knights.

"Holy shit," I faintly heard the commando in the train saying as the metal-wrapped digimon lumbered towards the train.

People, pokemon, and digimon hurried out of its way as it crossed the platform, and when it boarded the train, I swear I saw the compartment sink a little lower towards the track. Magnetic levitation or not, the behemoth was clearly a heavy beast. Part of me wondered if the brutish creature would have difficulty moving in the compartment thanks to all the magnetism employed by the rails, and yet another part of me pitied the commando for having to endure even ten minutes of its company.

With a hiss of well-maintained hydraulics, the door slid shut behind the digimon, and the station master blew his whistle. It didn't take five minutes for the train to pull out of the station, and by then, life on the platform was pretty much back to what it had looked like before I'd been posted to Canalave.

Shouldering my duffle bag, I headed towards the well-worn road that led to base camp.

xxx

Many things looked familiar as I reported for duty at the commandant's office, and got directions to the Inkblots' barracks. But then again, many things didn't, and I couldn't help but feel older as I made my way towards the explosives storage facility – true to the commando's earlier words, the Inkblots were still resident nearby thanks to the relative dimness of the general area there.

Had it really only been two years since I accidentally electrocuted that goldeen and got posted to Canalave?

As I walked past the physical training fields, I saw blocks of new recruits marching about, and rows of pokemon being trained in hand-to-hand combat. Several groups of digimon were also there, undergoing the same training as the pokemon troops. The instructors were still shouting their heads off as usual, too.

Ah, boot camp. How I'd missed it.

Just past the fields, the ground started sloping upwards, where base camp had been built into the sides of Mount Coronet. There were the barracks where I'd been assigned to for my basic military training, and there was the pond – much prettier now with that bush next to it – where I'd electrocuted the commandant's pet goldeen.

Just next to the mountainside, locked in by the rest of base camp, was the explosives facility. It was little more than a cluster of bunker-like concrete buildings, surrounded by barbed wire fencing and gorilla-like troops patrolling its perimeter.

While it had always been there since I'd joined the army, only now did I notice the small, garage-like structure practically behind the explosives bunkers. Nearly hidden from view behind the bunkers themselves, it was tucked into a depression in the rocky side of the mountain, and looked as if it had been built there to help keep the slope from eroding.

Once I got closer to the squat little building, I saw that a misshapen plank had been fixed above its door, on which the word 'INKBLOT' was written in black paint. Closer observation revealed that all of its windows were also opaque, the glass looking either tinted or painted black.

As I got nearer to the creepy-looking place, I noticed that a small amount of apparently random objects had been placed between it and the fence of explosives storage. Ranging from a closed aquarium to a bundle of bamboo canes, the motley collection had been neatly arranged against the barracks' wall. Chancing a quick look at the other side of the building revealed a small clothesline, with several standard-issue tank tops hung out to dry.

Funnily enough, I heard crickets chirping once I got to the door. A few steps to the left of the door and a quick look at the aquarium – closed and locked with a lid made of mesh netting – showed a veritable colony of crickets inside it, swarming about bundles of leafy vegetables like flies on roadkill.

The proximity to explosives storage was fine by me. The possibility of being buried alive during a landslide thanks to the location of the barracks was alright. Commandant remembering the fate of his late pet and not liking me, that was cool.

Somehow, that tank of crickets just gave me the chills.

When I at long last got around to knocking on the barracks door – following the knock rhythm the commandant had instructed me to us – no one answered. Repeating it thrice yielded the same results.

Hesitantly, I tried the doorknob, and to my surprise, it opened. The door swung outwards, revealing the barracks' darkened interior, but not its occupants.

Six bunks were arranged along the sides of the long room, and somewhere in the shadows at its other end was a door that probably led to the head. Of the six bunks, only four had footlockers next to them, those which were furthest from the door. The floor was perfectly clean, and a shoe rack had been placed next to the door, with several pairs of military boots on it. Mindful of the clean floor, I took my shoes off and put them on the rack, noting that the boots, bulky as they were, weren't much bigger in size than my shoes.

I stepped into the barracks, setting my duffel bag down on top of the shoe rack, and saw that of the four bunks with footlockers next to them, only three had mattresses.

My footlocker was only due in with tomorrow's train thanks to the security concerns, so who did the fourth footlocker belong to? The bunk frames were spindly metal things, and sleeping on one without a mattress would be damned uncomfortable.

Where were my barracks mates, anyway? The commandant did just tell me to get here and report to them.

Deciding that I might as well pick my bunk – plenty of choices given the apparently deserted room, really – I went over to the shoe rack, grabbed by duffel bag, and unzipped it.

What on Earth?

A squinted in the darkness, making sure my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. There was, in my duffel bag, a small package wrapped in brown paper. I certainly didn't recall putting that into my bag.

The strange package was curiously soft, and the paper crackled under my fingers. It had been wrapped clumsily, with as much tape and wrinkles as you'd expect from a child who was wrapping his first Christmas gift, and did not have a note attached to it. Five seconds and a removed wrapper later, I found myself staring at what was, unmistakably enough, a standard-issue tank top.

When I unfolded the puzzling piece of clothing, a piece of paper fell out of its folds and to the ground. What got my attention instead, though, was the little smiley face which had been sewn onto the tank top's back.

It was the stereotypical smiley face, except that the words 'Screw the nice guys, they finish last' were written on its forehead. Realising who the package was likely to have come from, I squatted down and picked up the piece of paper that had been folded into the top, and turned it over. Someone had written something on it, and the messy scrawl did look familiar.

_I suck at farewells so all the best, rookie! Someday, if the world becomes a better place, we'll grab a drink, m'kay? If not… well, the afterlife ought to be one eternal party, anyway. Fen says Allan's doing alright, and Aunty Moira sends her love. Take care of yourself and Newton, and try not to boil Silas, you hear me? Zack H._

Engrossed in reading General Harding's note in the near-darkness of the room, I didn't notice that I wasn't alone until a black bag was slipped over my head and the muzzle of a gun stuck in between my shoulder blades.

"Well!" drawled a distinctly accented voice. "What 'ave we 'ere, lads?"


	41. Commandos

**Chapter 40 – Commandos**

"Seriously?" I asked, although with a bag over my head, it came out sounding more like 'eeh-ah-ee?'.

The accented voice I'd heard spoke up again, and the pistol muzzle pressed between my shoulder blades moved up to the base of my neck. "Bleedin' Jesus, they just had to send another towerin' giant over, din they?"

"You're just short, Ginger," snorted a second voice.

Sounding a little more distant, a third voice made itself heard. "Could you guys take the questioning inside? You're blocking the doorway."

Nudge went the pistol at my neck. "Ya heard the man, lad. Move yer arse!"

I slowly moved my feet and made my way forward, only to receive a rough shove to the small of my back that sent me tripping over my own feet and falling face-first to the ground. One of the three – at least, I figured it was three – commandos that had had me cornered managed to grab me by my collar, though, and so I ended up being halfway garroted instead of smashing my nose on the concrete floor.

"Up, ya lout! We've got questions, and you're going to answer 'em!" Mr. Accent again, it seemed.

"Shall we take this to the head?"

"Whatever. I've got reeds to carve, so you two can enjoy him."

"Foeckin' Hell, Mozart! Tisn't every day we get a newbie to question, innit?"

Mozart cleared his throat. "Kindly don't call me that. He died broke and alone."

"You guys suck!" I wheezed, feeling my collar digging into my windpipe.

Knee, meet back. "Shut ya bleedin' pie hole, ya sodden cunt!"

The arguing between the three of them – I was very certain by this point that there were just the three of them - went on as they dragged me to the head, and the lone bulb flickering to life was visible to me despite my current headgear.

"Alright, new guy!" said Neither-Ginger-Nor-Mozart cheerfully. "What brings you to our humble quarters? Not an explosives thief, I hope."

"Answer the man, fool!" Ginger followed up on his snappish words by cuffing me across my head.

Somewhere else behind me, I could hear a soft scraping sound. Wonder what that could be? "I got assigned here. Nice to meet you too, by the way."

"SILENCE!" boomed Ginger. "_We_ are the only ones who will be sarcastic here, ye understand? So, tell me why we shouldn't kill ya right here and now, eh, laddie."

I reached up and yanked the bag off my head, dislodging my glasses as I did so. The safety catch on the pistol poking me in the back was clicked off, and I found myself glaring at a lean guy with dishwater blonde hair and what seemed to be faintly shimmering eyes. Or at least, I found myself glaring at a slightly blurred humanoid, given that I wasn't exactly looking through my glasses.

"What's with the shades, Slick?" Blondie asked me with an amused grin.

I straightened out my glasses, and settled for glaring at him over the lenses. "I got assigned to your unit. Do I really need to explain the glasses?"

"Da first and last words outta ya stinkin' gob'll be 'sir', ya hear me?" snarled Ginger, as he pistol-whipped me across the back of my head.

Reflexively, I spun about and took a swipe at his gun-hand, even as my head started throbbing with a dull, aching sensation. He took a step back and brought his other arm up, palm opened and aimed straight for my abdomen. I barely managed to block that strike, and before I could even blink, he had swept my feet out from under me with his right leg.

Falling backwards, I felt myself hitting something moderately firm, and the stifled curse I heard confirmed that I'd apparently crashed into Blondie. The two of us fell to the ground in a heap, and Ginger advanced towards us, finally able to physically look down on me.

His hair was, as his call-sign suggested, as orange as a carrot. He wasn't very tall, that was for sure, but did have startlingly prominent cheekbones as well as a stocky, powerful-looking appearance. Scars crisscrossed his forearms, and his face was marked by a long, thin scar that traced a smooth curve from his left temple to the corner of his jawbone.

Surprisingly enough, he didn't look that furious, despite his earlier words. He just looked… resigned, I suppose.

"Why are ya here, really?" he asked, as he took aim at my forehead.

I set my jaw and offered him the most bored expression I could muster. "I got reassigned. Something to do with the recent chaos, I think. Didn't you get the memo?"

Under me, Blondie let out a pained groan, "This guy's got more bones to him than a bascaulin… hurry up and get on with it, will you?"

Ginger squatted down, and tried to look me in the eye. "Alright, mate. Three questions, and I decide if we oughta kill ya. No right or wrong answers, just those we don't like. Deal?"

"Just get it over with," I deadpanned, rolling my eyes. Given how I'd been held at gunpoint while being immobilized by a psychic before, along with all the other mishaps during my rather colourful days back at Canalave, Ginger got points for trying, but his death threats really didn't seem all that scary.

He nodded. "Where do your loyalties lie?"

A loaded question right off the bat, then. I held up a hand to let him know I was thinking it over, and he merely grunted in response, the pistol's aim never going too far away from my forehead.

Where did my loyalties lie? The easy one would be to say it was with the government, naturally. But then again, there were those from Canalave's underground crowd who I considered friends, as well as some decidedly anti-establishment folks I still maintained contact with. And, of course, I'd tried to get my commanding officer stripped of his rank and locked away for murder. Couldn't forget that one, now, could I?

I shrugged, and gave Ginger my answer. "My first loyalty is to myself, and my team."

He mulled over it for a bit, and spoke up again, "Next question, then. Earth as it is, or as it was?"

"Be specific."

"Are ya with or agains' the digimon being part of our world?" he clarified.

Babamon, Persiamon. Sean, Mum, Bruiser, Amy, Dad. General Harding. Aunty Moira. People I'd never have met if not for the Revolution.

"There are some I'd call my friends, but for the most part…," I trailed off, giving the question a final think-over, "I miss the way things used to be."

Blondie squirmed a little. "Could you let me out?"

"The ginger nut here might shoot me, so tough luck, bro," I said, looking back at Ginger. "Last question?"

His facial expression changed to one which looked… defeated. "What do you have to lose?"

The question, spoken softly, took a second to hit home. When it did so, it felt like an onix was giving me a loving squeeze to tenderize me. Somehow, my mind just went blank right there and then.

Did I really have nothing left to lose?

Out of nowhere, a memory surfaced in the emptiness that was me trying to answer Ginger's last question. In my mind's eye, I saw a shellder sitting on a telephone directory, nervously sticking out his tongue and draping it over the shoulder of the sobbing human sitting next to him. Like a bursting dam, images started flashing through my mind.

Sharing ice cream with that same shellder during a heat wave.

Laughing as I did the backstroke and let him experience the view you could only get while swimming backwards.

Beer in a saucer, a shellder on a tray, a small mountain of crushed peanut shells, and a weary-looking Zachary Harding on the same table at Diz's.

A volcarona hissing furiously at the comparatively puny shellder that was firing jets of water at it.

Bubbles trailing to the surface of a bucket of water where a shellder was having a nap.

Going to sleep with the familiar weight of my starter on my chest.

For a second, Silas' usual wide-eyed expression seemed to fix itself in front of me despite him being in his pokeball, and I felt a tightness in my chest that wasn't too dissimilar to how it felt when he slept on me.

I looked at Ginger, and answered him so quietly that I could barely hear myself. "Silas."

After what felt like hours, he nodded, and holstered the pistol. Offering me a hand, he helped me up, causing Blondie to let out a relieved moan.

"Welcome to the Inkblots, then," he said, offering me a small smile, "The one unit where all we have to lose is… each other."

Somewhere back in the barracks, a low, mournful sound made itself heard. Long-buried memories of frets, chords, tabs, and meter flickered within my mind, and I couldn't help but smile when I recognized the clarinet's voice for what it was.

I no longer wondered why they'd given him the nickname Mozart.

xxx

The night lights started not long after I got to Coronet base. Some compared them to the beauty of aurora borealis, some said they were a bad omen, some said it was a sign of the Legendaries being awakened, and for the most part, no one knew what the heck was going on.

Most of us hoped it wasn't the Legendaries, though. Given that the lights all originated from the peak of Mount Coronet, and that the Spear Pillar was where Giratina's realm of distortion was anchored to our dimension… suffice to say that all travel up the mountain was strictly forbidden, leading to even more rumours about how the lights could have come about.

"Pretty lights," I said to no one in particular, as I looked out of the barracks window. "Wonder what they're doing up there?"

Lizard stopped playing his clarinet long enough to offer me a soft-spoken reply. "Whatever it is, it's radioactive to some extent."

I turned to regard him with a curious expression. "Oh?"

Among the four of us, he was the only one who wasn't merely vision-impaired. It so happened that his affinity with insects had given him a limited ability to see beyond the usual spectrum of visible light, and so he could sometimes see things like ultraviolet rays and other energy emissions.

He shrugged. "The moon's been giving off some strange energy waves on the nights when we see them."

Looking out of the window once again, I squinted at the moon, which was somewhat hidden behind a cloud bank. True, it was slightly brighter than it usually was, but I couldn't see the same wavelengths Lizard could, and so after a while, I gave up and hopped into my bunk.

In the privacy – I hoped – of my own mind, I wondered if the mysterious cargo I'd accompanied just a few weeks ago on that train had anything to do with the bizarre night lights from the Spear Pillar.

xxx

"Wakey wakey, sleepy head!" I sang, grabbing Balrog by his shoulder and shaking him. "P.T. is in thirty minutes!"

He cracked open an eye, weakly flipped me off, and rolled over, curling up like a sandshrew, muttering, "Fuck off, Nice Guy."

I sighed, and stepped back. "Courtney, do you mind, dear?"

The gabite stepped towards her sleeping trainer with a growl, and proceeded to shove him out of his bunk. He fell to the ground with a muted thudding sound, and she stomped over to his prone form, nudging him in the ribs with her claws.

Amazingly, he just rolled over onto his side and snored, followed by a little bit of drool trickling out of his mouth.

So, this was Balrog, who I'd referred to as Blondie during my first day as an Inkblot. Ground-attuned, incredible pain threshold, practically blind in bright environments, much-loved by the mess hall cooks since he could stomach even semi-expired foodstuffs, and a very, very deep sleeper.

Courtney let out a disgusted grunt, and gestured to the piloswine next to her. He shuffled forward, and exhaled a chilling mist that enveloped his trainer. It took a few minutes, but the Icy Wind did the trick, and Balrog eventually woke up.

"Did you really have to ask Gandalf to do that?" he yawned, shaking his head and sending droplets of condensed water flying everywhere, "Bastard."

I gave him a jaunty salute, and spun about on my heel. Grabbing my towel, I headed for the head. "Twenty minutes to P.T."

"Fuck."

We weren't the closest among the four Inkblots, but his team got along well enough with me. Courtney the gabite seemed to be rather fond of Newton, and Gandalf the piloswine was always pestering me to scratch him behind his ears. I had yet to meet Balrog's gliscor, Drake, but he assured me that if the other two were cool with me, Drake was unlikely to make a fuss about it.

Silas did enjoy being in Gandalf's company, too. The two ice-types spent most nights discussing ice moves, and we ended up having to sleep in damp bunks when Gandalf tried to teach Silas how to use Icy Wind, and the whole barracks ended up being chilled to near-winter temperatures. It was pleasant enough for me, what with my predominant water adaptation and partial ice adaptation, but Lizard as well as Ginger weren't so happy about the whole situation.

The Inkblots had a duty roster for waking up Balrog to avoid punishment for tardiness, and so my addition to the unit freed up two extra mornings per week for Lizard and Ginger to get an extra ten minutes of sleep each.

"So, which course are we supposed to be running today?" Balrog asked me as we grabbed a quick shower before heading out to the physical training grounds.

Rinsing off, I answered him, "Swamp."

He finished his shower with angry murmuring about muddy gear and the sacrilegious timing of the drills, just as Ginger and Lizard staggered drowsily into the head.

"Top o' the mornin' to ya two buggers," Ginger said sleepily, sounding as though he was speaking around a mouthful of marbles.

Lizard remained silent, as he tended to be.

Not ten minutes later, we were all bogged down in knee-deep brackish water, and trying to subdue a rather aggressive krokorok that had ambushed us on the obstacle course.

xxx

General Harding waved at me and I waved back, since the video call's voice component seemed to be lagging a little. He badly needed a haircut as well as a shave, there were bags under his eyes, and he looked a little paler than I'd ever seen him being during the time I spent working as his assistant.

"- looking good," he said, his voice sounding all scratchy and distorted by static. "I see- -commando training- -workout."

I shrugged. "You're one who looks like death warmed over. Hard times back at port control?"

He sighed, and leaned back in his seat. "Not easy, the paper- -kenimon and Mummymon aren't making things easier, either. And we've got rio- -things over there?"

Through the speakers, I heard a faint rumble, which I'd been told was usually the sound of an explosion as heard via a video call. "Looks like you've got work to do. Good luck."

"Take care, Nice- -a drink some- -eet again," he said, before signing off.

xxx

Ginger was our leader of sorts, and kept things running in an orderly fashion. He was the one who had drawn up the roster for waking Balrog, cleaning the barracks as well as head, and also the laundry list. Frankly, without him, I think the three of us would've been dishonorably discharged from the commandos for being complete slobs who exploited the rarity of police calls in our corner of the training camp.

He and I weren't exactly close, honestly speaking. I was the unwanted replacement they had never asked for, and I guess I could understand where he was coming from on that. We only spoke to each other as and when our duty called for it, really – this typically happened during explosives training, since he was partially colour blind and couldn't identify the different types of wires in bombs.

If anything, we only seemed to respect each other's competence on the field and our mutual lack of family.

Orphaned in Glasgow during his teenage years thanks to the Revolution, Ginger had made his way to Sinnoh and wound up in the army. Save for his starter, Slappy the banette, he only had two other pokemon, a lecherous haunter named Mac and a stoic drapion named Stryker.

Here, I feel it should be noted that Mac was more than very notorious for using his disembodied hands to molest the inhabitants of our base at his whims and fancies.

"It's all a little fuzzy given how long it's been," Mac had once told me with a saucy wink, "but I distinctly recall havin' been a registered sexual offender when I was alive, y'know? And who wouldn't love hands like these? Bleedin' waste of time evolving into a gengar, if ya ask me"

On those times when Mac wasn't busy training or outraging people's modesty and I happened to be free, I would sit down with him, and just listen to his stories of life in the olden days, almost two centuries ago.

He would regale Silas, Newton, and yours truly with tales of children no older than ten years of age going on training journeys. He spoke of how the criminal underworld back then was not very different from the way it was today. He told us fantastic things, wondrous things, and according to him, Ginger had no real interest in hearing him out, for the most part.

Slappy and Stryker were polar opposites of Mac's outgoing nature. Slappy never failed to creep me out with his zipper-mouthed grin and offers of free acupuncture, and Stryker was not too happy that I consistently mistook her for a male of her species.

Hey, it wasn't my fault that she had pincers that would have made a scizor develop the claw-related equivalent of penis envy.

Funnily enough, it was Mac who I found myself talking to the most aside from my own pokemon whenever my unit mates were occupied or not in a conversational mood. Despite him being a crass, incorrigible pervert, he usually had some sound advice on hand for most situations, and even offered to Shadow Sneak me back to Canalave for visits on special occasions.

One day, after a particularly tiring set of weapons drills and obstacle courses, Mac had perched at the foot of my bunk, nudging my foot until he woke me up in the middle of the night.

"You're an old soul, child," he had said, his rasping voice sounding wistful. "It's been a while since I've had a listenin' ear, so… ya have my gratitude."

I stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and grogginess. "You woke me up to say that?"

He spread his hands. "Better late than never. And as far as I'm concerned, you're one of us now, so don't ya mind that human of mine or what anyone says, ya hear?"

A few days later, when I passed him a blue magazine I'd managed to get my hands on, I could've sworn his tongue lolled at least a meter out of his mouth.

xxx

I saw a digimon guard not dropping dead despite having spent less than the usual five hours required in their specialized sleeping chambers.

Ginger, Balrog, and Lizard saw it, too.

So did the rest of camp.

And guess what else we saw that day? If your guess was the Coronet lights, you would have been correct.

Something big was happening, but what was it?

xxx

Our patrol group stopped at the limit of Coronet base's boundaries somewhere about three in the morning, and we waited. It didn't take thirty seconds for a shedinja and its trainer to literally emerge from the shadows, and we kept an eye out for anyone that might have been around to witness what was about to take place.

"Password?" Ginger asked softly, as the elderly man and his undead husk of a pokemon stayed put where they'd stepped out of the Shadow Sneak.

"Candy canes," replied our visitor, as he dug around in his pockets. "Yours?"

Ginger nodded. "Peppermint."

"Good," the old trainer came closer, and nodded in the direction of the crate we had at our feet. "What've you got for me tonight?"

Balrog unsealed the crate, took a confirmatory glance at its contents, and resealed it. "Antibiotics, some ammo, and as much grub as Mama could spare us without it being suspicious. I'd say maybe a week's eating for the average person living on their own. Oh, and duct tape for Kathy"

"Much appreciated, and I think soon we won't need as much duct tape, since I've found her a new body," said our guest, as he unclipped a pokeball from his belt. "I'll let Muriel out to give us a hand, if you don't mind?"

Ginger nodded. "Go ahead, Mister Hew."

Dull red light poured out of the customized pokeball as his victreebel materialized, and we instinctively took a step back – she was infamous for spewing profanities and acid at those she disliked.

Really, their pokemon seemed to be polar opposites. Aloysius and Moira Hew made such a sweet, loving couple, but their teams were unruly, violent, and most definitely unsuited for interaction with anything below the age of eighteen, plants included.

Well, perhaps Kathy the shedinja was the exception to that rule. She would just float around behind Mr. Hew, and would only stir up a fuss if she needed him to reinforce her exoskeleton with more duct tape.

Once she had gotten her bearings, Muriel gave us her usual look of disdain and huffed, _"Well, if it isn't the faggot patrol again. Hello, you wasted sperms."_

"The crate, dear," Mr. Hew said gently, nudging her in the side. "We need to get back fast."

With a haughty gurgle, Muriel picked up the crate with her vine, and Mr. Hew held on to the base of said appendage. Silently, as always, Kathy the shedinja floated up to them, bits of her exoskeleton flaking off and dropping to the ground like papery snowflakes.

She pushed them into a shadow, and the three of them disappeared, leaving no signs of their presence there save for the pieces of Kathy's flaking husk that were scattered about the ground.

xxx

We didn't know each other's names – orders from above, to ensure that we wouldn't get emotionally attached to each other, in the event that anything untoward should happen to any of us. So as far as we were concerned, the Inkblots consisted of Ginger, Balrog, Lizard, and Nice Guy.

Yes, they gave me my call-sign thanks to the little smiley face General Harding had fixed onto the tank top I wore when we were in the barracks. Unanimously, we'd bestowed him with the honorary call-sign of Porn Star, which he had accepted with great pride and amusement by means of a video call.

I did find myself wondering about Lizard's name the most, though. His real name, that is; the origin of 'Lizard' was straightforward enough given his favourite snack of live crickets dipped in honey.

No, I am not joking. The tank containing the cricket colony outside the barracks was his, and he had two jars under his bunk which he ate out of. One contained some choice crickets, and the other contained honey to dip them in. In his words, 'it simply isn't healthy or appetizing to marinate crickets in honey and store them as snacks for prolonged periods of time'.

Choice of snack aside, what made me wonder about his name was his music.

Lizard was most definitely more than just competent with a clarinet, and his inclination towards music was reflected in his team: Rostropovich the kricketune, Ludwig the wigglytuff, and Evelyn the masquerain. His kricketune, which he affectionately referred to as Rusty, was named for one of the great cellists of the past, his wigglytuff named after the legendary composer Beethoven, and his masquerain named after a renowned percussionist who played at a concert level despite being hearing-impaired.

On an almost daily basis, the four of them would play their music, and the three of us would just sit and listen, amazed that they could still have energy for that after a long day of training.

Every time I saw and heard Lizard playing music alongside his team, I wondered if he would have been famous if not for the Revolution. It was so simple, really. One clarinet in B-flat, a kricketune that mimicked a cello beautifully, a masquerain who produced numerous percussive sounds by channeling air through her abdomen, and a male wigglytuff that sang bass notes. But the music they played was beautiful, nonetheless.

Sometimes, he would continue playing even after Ginger and Balrog had gone to sleep. On those nights where I wasn't due to wake Balrog up the next morning, I would stay up and listen to him. Initially, he was a little nervous being watched, but after a while, he admitted that it was nice to have someone who appreciated his efforts around.

Even Newton and Silas enjoyed the music, really. The two of them would sit by my sides, leaning against me, and watch as our resident musicians did their thing. On the odd occasion that Lizard wanted solo practice, Ludwig almost invariably would curl up on my lap and ask to get a backrub, whereas Rusty and Evelyn would take a jaunt outside and grab some supper. And that was how I spent more than a few nights in relative happiness despite the world changing around us.

Those nights were eventually taken from us, though. Had I know how things were going to spiral out of control, and how rapidly they were about to do so, I probably would have allowed Silas and Newton to cuddle with Ludwig the night Lizard played one of his usual, haunting solos.

The moon was full, glowing, and somehow sinister, that night.


	42. Blackout

**Chapter 41 – Blackout**

Silas, Newton, and I stared at the matte black box I had placed in the middle of my bunk. Ginger, Balrog, and Lizard were having a game of cards at Balrog's bunk, while their teams were out grabbing supper – at the back of my mind I wished that elusive furret all the best with evading capture.

Orders had come down from above along with the little box, and they had been very clear about what I was to do with the box's contents.

I exhaled slowly. "So, it's all unpredictable, right?"

"_That's for sure,"_ Silas said softly, sounding a little unsure. _"But we don't exactly have a choice, do we?"_

"I did ask Uncle Aloysius about it, and he said older pokemon tend to process the changes faster," I shrugged. "He says that's how it was with Muriel, anyway."

Newton wasn't smiling, for once._ "You do realize you'll be blind by the time it all finishes, right, Silas?"_

Now that was unexpected. "Say what, Newton?"

His face formed a rubbery grimace, and he took a step forward, flicking the box with his tail. _"Silas told me about that not too long ago."_

I turned to face my starter, and saw that he was trying his best to look away. When I pushed his shell around to make him face me, he slowly withdrew his tongue and clamped himself shut.

Wordlessly, I picked him up, feeling his familiar weight in my hands. He wasn't exactly light, but he wasn't that heavy, either – I could easily lift him up with one hand if I needed to. His shell was smooth save for the shallow grooves that fanned out from its back, and its edges were regular, almost like a pair of human lips.

"Silas…," I said gently, "it's alright."

He remained silent.

I put him down on my lap, and slowly rubbed the outside his shell, just the way he liked it. "I… I know it's hard, but… but maybe this is how we ended up together, eh? Affinity, being alone, and well, maybe effectively homeless.

"But maybe it's because both of us were meant to lose our sight together."

After an age, he slowly opened up, and moved himself about until he was facing me again. His eyes were large and moist as always, although this time, there seemed to be a hollow depth to them that was new to me.

"_You…,"_ he whispered, _"you've changed, Trainer."_

I hugged him to my chest, even as he made a sound that resembled a hiccup. His tongue snaked out and ended up draped around my neck like a scarf.

To his credit, Newton stayed at the foot of my bunk, looking away.

Silas made that unusual hiccupping sound again. _"Trainer, let me see your face."_

Wordlessly, I lifted him up, feeling his tongue sliding back between his shells. He and I were at eye-level then.

"_Please, take off the black glasses."_

Off went the glasses, taking my eyesight with them. I sat there, staring at the blurry lump that was Silas, and it was a while before he finally asked me to put him down. I placed him gently on the mattress, and he scooted closer, propping himself up on my knee to look me in the eyes.

"_I'll never forget how you look like, Trainer,"_ he trilled, with a distinct quaver to his words. _"Always."_

I patted him on the shell, and he gave me one of his usual shellder tongue handshakes. When Newton slowly nudged the black box towards us shortly thereafter, I opened it with shaking hands.

It was beautiful, and seemed to glow from within with a sea-green light. Somehow, the glow even seemed to shift about and pulsate, almost as if it was a living creature instead of a chunk of radioactive minerals.

When lights-out came later on, the water stone's glow bathed us in an eerie light from where I'd placed it by my pillow.

xxx

More and more soldiers were being called back into base camp, and increasing numbers of digimon troops were being assigned to street patrols. Naturally, this meant the increased presence of the massive, UFO-like constructs which served as their specialized sleeping chambers. Strangely enough, the digimon troops were pulling increasingly longer shifts despite there being more of the radiation chambers being out and about.

Lizard wryly remarked one day that perhaps they'd managed to rig the moon to be radioactive. None of us could decide if we even wanted to consider taking his suggestion seriously.

And, of course, the night lights about Mount Coronet were practically a meteorological constant by then. Couldn't forget those that easily, really.

xxx

Newton was a happy soul most of the time, to the point that Mama, the gigantic Arab in charge of the mess hall, decided to give him the nickname of Said, which supposedly meant 'happy' in some Middle Eastern language. He – Newton, not Mama – usually went about with a face-splitting smile, and would cheerfully greet everyone he recognized as he walked about camp by my side. Unsurprisingly, most of the folks he regularly saw about base camp soon grew fond of him.

Myself, I found him to be an amiable companion, and I guess a respectable pokemon in his own right.

I hadn't asked to become his trainer, and he knew it. So most of the time while he did make an effort to be cheerful during our conversations and work together, he nonetheless maintained his distance from Silas and I. Just like me being assigned to the Inkblots, though, he hadn't exactly had a choice in the matter. And unlike me, he didn't have the option of reassignment, either.

Fate had a sick sense of humour, that was for sure. Or had I angered the irony gods?

To Hell with it all.

xxx

When all communications from Sootopolis abruptly ceased one day, Coronet base went to Code Red in about three and a half minutes. That isn't to say that we were surprised by it, though; suspicious would've been a more appropriate term for how we thought of the whole situation thanks to some snooping by a certain lecherous ghost.

"Bloody stinks of a foeckin' conspiracy, if ye ask me," huffed Ginger, as we watched another trio of sentries making a round of the perimeter fence not too far from our barracks.

Lizard paused in the act of dipping a still-squirming cricket into his honey jar. "What makes you say so?"

Ginger cast a quick glance about, and gestured to Mac. "Ol' Mac 'ere's been telling me that there's been increased naval patrols about Sootopolis, and that they put Aegis in charge. 'eard it from the commandant's mouth 'imself, he did."

That particular piece of news made me wonder. Sootopolis City, having been built inside a dormant volcano, was rather infamous for its bad reception. But a communications blackout which persisted during clear weather at sea was odd, to say the least, especially given that Grand Admiral Aegis had been assigned to monitor the area.

Koothayan Aegis was a legendary mariner, and was particularly renowned for his cartography skills - back in his native Johto he had been among the first captains to successfully chart the treacherous waters around the Whirl Islands. By the time the Revolution had come around, he was already the commodore of the Johto Security Fleet, and even the digimon had acknowledged his skills by giving him a vice-admiral's rank.

At present, he was one of the five human Grand Admirals, and was supreme commander of Earth's naval forces. And somehow, he had been personally assigned to monitor the situation at Sootopolis, whatever it might have been.

Which was why, when I managed to secure a communications slot several hours later, I was completely unsurprised to see that General Harding was a nervous wreck.

"- and it's not like this is uncommon," he half-muttered, running a hand through his hair. "It's all a massive over-reaction, if you ask me."

"They _did_ send Aegis over," I pointed out, as I drummed my fingers on the side of the video monitor, "and they certainly wouldn't do that on a whim now, would they?"

General Harding remained silent for a while, before giving me a shrug and ending the video call.

xxx

Day after day, I noticed that Silas' shell was growing rougher and bigger. He grew heavier, too, and one day, I realised that I had to start getting him to sleep on the floor when I tried to sleep and nearly had my rib cage cave in on me.

And then came the day when he didn't come out of his pokeball when I pressed the release button.

I had known that we would reach such a point in time eventually, but, as with all other big things in life, I hadn't expected it to be so soon. Uncle Aloysius' words regarding matured pokemon progressing faster along radiation-stimulated evolution pathways had turned out to be true, since Silas had only been exposed to that water stone for just over a month.

Checking the calendar, I felt the briefest flicker of doubt crossing my mind – one month of water stone exposure meant that the Sootopolis communications blackout had already gone on for ten days. We hadn't received news on weather conditions about the city, but base camp was now at a Code Yellow alert level, so the situation must have gotten closer to resolution, I suppose.

Honestly, though, Sootopolis wasn't exactly of any significant concern to me right then, since my bunk felt… too big without Silas around.

Newton couldn't even sleep next to me thanks to the effect his mildly-toxic slime had on my bare skin after prolonged exposure, and I was used to having a shellder as my makeshift bolster after the last three years or so in the army. It came to a point whereby I ended up rolling over and hugging Balrog as he slept during a training exercise out on the slopes of Mount Coronet, which quite predictably led to a slew of lewd jokes when Slappy the banette gleefully spread the word about the incident around camp.

Thankfully, Lizard was kind enough to loan me Ludwig as a bolster until Silas completed his evolution.

xxx

"Oi, NiceGuy!" a voice, somewhat familiar, called out from behind me as I got up to leave the mess hall.

I turned to look at its owner, and recognized her as one of the administration troops – just like what I'd been back at Canalave. "Yes?"

She walked up to me, and handed me an envelope with a smile. "Security saw this the other day on surveillance. They found it so cute that they had it blown up and made a copy for you!"

With a frown, I took the envelope from her, and opened it. Its contents confirmed my suspicions that I was being watched at least some of the time in the barracks, and managed to make a lump form in my throat at the same time.

It was a picture of me sleeping propped-up in the corner with Silas and Newton all snuggled up at my sides. Silas' tongue was lolling out over my right knee, and Newton had been passed out on my lap. That day had been the day we tackled the notorious twenty kilometer 'Steamroller Trail' within Mount Coronet's cavernous chambers, and had been so exhausted afterwards that we fell asleep directly after cleaning up at the barracks.

From that night onwards, the picture ended up in the waterproof box I kept in my footlocker, and Newton got a little blanket that allowed him to sleep next to me without causing my skin to start peeling again.

xxx

Sootopolis remained silent for a total of twenty three days, and I barely noticed. Thanks to Silas sealing himself away inside his pokeball to evolve, I was solely reliant on the chipper little bastard of a wooper as my combat partner, and he was definitely more than a handful to deal with.

To start with, he, like Silas before him, had turned out to be a tad precocious with his skills. My first training session with him had revealed a passable Surf, a dodgy Ice beam, and a scary Toxic. He also could pull off a Mud Slap with appreciable force but deadly accuracy, as his opponents learned to their cost. Several broken bones, a dead butterfree, a mankey with an amputated foot, and an impressively scarred Newton later, I learned to keep my distance when he was attacking.

If anything, the training sessions seemed to make him even more active than he already was, and the hyperactive little bugger seemed perfectly content with just three hours of sleep in a day. Which was why, by the twenty third day of the Sootopolis blackout, I was hardly surprised to find out that I was way out of touch with the whole crisis situation, and that Newton was showing signs of transitioning into a quagsire.

"How old are you, again?" I asked him wearily, as I examined the emerging stumps beneath his neck. Yup, those did look like arms in the making. "I mean, Silas is nearing fourteen, but your species doesn't live that long, right?"

He thought about it for a while, and chirped, _"If I remember properly, I am six springs old."_

Now, that was a little surprising. "Eh?"

"_When the rain comes!"_ he nodded, the antennae on the sides of his head waving about. _"One of your four seasons, spring? I've lived through six of them."_

"Oh," I blinked at him like a hoothoot as the meaning of his words sank in. "And how long do your kind live?"

That made him pace about for a while in thought. _"The elder quagsire usually survive for almost fifteen springs, and the oldest I've known of died after her eighteenth winter. So I should have quite a bit of time left, though probably nowhere near as much as Silas does."_

I nodded as I recalled him into his pokeball. Shellder and cloyster could live much longer than humans, according to the research I'd done on Silas before I'd left Canalave. Apparently, there even existed a wild cloyster somewhere near the Seafoam Islands which was estimated to be almost three hundred years old, whose shell was close to fifteen feet wide and five tall, with a calculated weight of near half a tonne.

So Newton was about halfway through his lifespan, me about a third through mine, and Silas perhaps a thirtieth of his.

Interesting, if not anything else.

xxx

The light around his pokeball's release button was gone, and a month had passed since Sootopolis went incommunicado. Silas had been busy evolving for two months, and Newton was already halfway through his growth into a quagsire, if the emerging fin and rudimentary flippers he was growing were any indication. Now, it seemed, Silas was finally done.

"Come on, mate!" cheered Ginger. "Let 'im out, and we'll see 'ow 'e's like!"

"Ease up, G-man," laughed Balrog, as Gandalf the piloswine shuffled closer, puffing out icy fog in his excitement at seeing a fellow ice pokemon to work with. "It's NiceGuy's first evolution!"

I bit my lip, turning Silas' pokeball over in my hands. So he was a cloyster now. Questions, doubts, and every miniscule worry I'd ever had about Silas seemed to pop up in my mind, flashing past like a billboard on steroids. Sure, I'd met General Harding's cloyster that eon or so ago at Snowpoint, but no two pokemon were the same, were they?

Back then, I had learned that cloyster had two shell layers: a pair of large, flatter shells on the outside that were basically grown versions of their shellder armour, and a smaller, rounder pair on inside the older pair that protected their soft bodies. The muscles controlling the opening and closing of both shell pairs were opposing in nature, such that the outer shells could only open if the inner shells were shut, and vice-versa. It was a simple, elegant means of keeping cloyster safe from other marine pokemon, but did make cloyster entirely dependent on a specialized form of echolocation to 'see' their surroundings.

It was also the reason why evolution was a literally blinding experience for Silas.

Part of me wondered if I had been wrong in allowing Silas to evolve, orders be damned. Had I, in being an obedient soldier, doomed my starter to spending the remainder of his life in darkness? Had I taken the world from him along with his sight?

Mechanically, my thumb depressed the release button, and bright light surged out of the pokeball, gradually reshaping itself into the large, rocky mass that was Silas' external shells.

The six of us – Newton and Gandalf included – cautiously stepped closer to where Silas lay on the floor, easily covering about a square meter of space with his current size. He looked like a colossal oyster.

"Silas?" I called out hesitantly. "Silas, can you hear me?"

The large shells opened slightly, and a series of strange-sounding clicks and whistles came from between them. Upon hearing them, my knees felt weak, and my throat felt oddly tight, as though I was trying to swallow compressed air.

"_Trainer, are you there?"_ Silas trilled, even as Newton and Gandalf let out excited cheers, and my barracks mates offered me their congratulations, _"It's great to be out here again!_

"_You won't believe how boring it got in there, hoo!"_

"_Hello, Silas!"_ Newton called out, waving happily with his stubby little flippers despite the fact that Silas probably couldn't see the gesture, anyway. _"How's it feel to be a cloyster?"_

There was a long silence before Silas responded with another round of muted whistling, _"I feel sluggish. And is one of the humans here Trainer? I can't tell with this shitty excuse for cloyster eyesight."_

"I-" my voice cracked, as I stepped forward and knelt down next to him, laying a hand on his shell, "It's me, Silas."

He was quiet for a bit, before he let out a cheerful, _"Trainer!"_

I leaned over, and hugged him as best I could despite his abrasive new armour. A tear escaped my left eye, and I briefly wondered if it was due to the sharp bits of his shell digging into my arms and face.

"Welcome back, Silas."

xxx

One month of zero communications, and they expected us to be surprised by the announcement that we were going back to a Code Red alert? Nice try, but no cigar.

What did surprise us was the broadcast from Sootopolis that they showed to the commandos, though. It was supposedly to keep us abreast with current developments in the event of an emergency Hoenn deployment, but most of us ended up watching in a kind of slack-jawed horror as none other than Grand Admiral Jonathan Treacher – supreme commander of the air forces, and someone whose presence at Sootopolis definitely hadn't been announced – very calmly stared into the camera and made his statement.

"As of oh-five-hundred hours, it has been ascertained that no less than three hundred individuals from Sootopolis," he said in his gravelly voice, "have been involved in terrorist activities. We have not ruled out the possibility of the radio tower attacks being linked to them, along with Slenderman, the pokemon battle that was nearly televised, and whatever else those treasonous scum have done.

"All residents of Sootopolis City are henceforth to be suspect as terrorists until proven otherwise. A blockade of the city is now in effect, and jamming of communications is to continue until the terrorist agents are rooted out and interrogated.

"You have your orders, and they have forty-eight hours."

No less than three _hundred_ individuals, out of perhaps a million.

Jamming of communications is to _continue_, implying that the blackout had been deliberate.

Forty-eight hours, suggesting that Grand Admiral Treacher had given the suspected terrorists a deadline.

Even as we filed out of the briefing room and headed back to our respective activities, the question of why and how the terrorists had been traced to Sootopolis screamed itself out in my mind in bright neon letters. And then there was the question of what Earth's most ruthless military officer would do to Sootopolis if they failed to meet his deadline.

Out of desperation, I asked Ginger, Slappy, and Mac for a favour, and they readily agreed. All it took was a Shadow Sneak or several, and they returned not three hours later with grim news.

Zachary Harding had been temporarily relieved of his general's rank pending an investigation of the suspected terrorist activity at Sootopolis, and was already _en route_ to Coronet base camp for debriefing and questioning.

Not unexpectedly, just an hour after the two ghosts had delivered me the news, the Intelligence operatives came for me.


	43. Detention

**Chapter 42 – Detention**

Coronet base camp had been built as a military facility, and so its detention block was fairly simple. Little more than a landed brig consisting of several rows of barred cells – basically cages, really - they functioned more as an overnight holding tank for intoxicated or delirious troops rather than actual detainees.

In fact, it was a considered a rite of passage for new commandos to spend a night or several in lockup. Not being one to go against tradition, I'd ended up being thrown into the drunk tank after a - rather spectacular, if I may say so myself – brawl with several infantrymen down at the mess hall.

As soon as I was escorted through the detention block's door, though, I saw that some modifications had clearly been carried out since I'd been there.

The bars which had once been the only means of containment for the cells' occupants had been sandwiched between what appeared to be large sheets of glass. At a closer glance, the transparent sheets had clearly been riveted to the bars, and their true nature only became obvious to me when I saw one of the current detainees thumping her fists against them. From the sounds of the sheets rattling against the bars, it seemed that whoever had decided to remodel the detention block had taken the liberty of using transparisteel plates.

Only when I reached my own cell did it occur to me that transparisteel was extremely effective at blocking off sounds. I would be able to see all of my neighbours, but I wouldn't be able to say a word to any of them.

Sitting down on the slab of poured cement that was to be my bunk, I cast a furtive look at my surroundings, and saw more than a couple of familiar faces. There was Rosalind Wattson, muttering to herself as always, and just a few cells away was Karoly Topolov. Hell, I was quite sure that the emaciated looking woman just a few cells away from me was none other than Colonel Doctor Bean, who had risen to infamy due to her talents with biological weaponry.

What felt like several hours passed, and there were no signs of General Harding being escorted into the detention block. My mind started mulling over the possibilities: him being currently interrogated, he being detained elsewhere, or even having being implicated as a terrorist and all the niceties which would inevitably come with such implications…

After a while, though, I got bored with attempting to figure out where he was if he wasn't in the tank. With the transparisteel panels blocking all communications between cells, I did the best thing a guy could do when he was in solitary confinement.

I took a nap.

xxx

Chow time was shortly after I'd woken up, which meant that the impossibly long – and boring! – time I'd spent thus far in detention probably hadn't exceeded five hours yet.

As I chewed on the rubbery stuff they'd seen fit to keep us alive on, I looked about at the other cells. From what I could see, there were several new additions to the tank's residents. Most were unfamiliar, but a quick second glance revealed that yes, my former commanding officer had indeed been locked up at Coronet Base Camp.

I moved up to the corner of my cell, and tried to find the line of sight with the best view of his cell. There wasn't really one, in the end, and so I wound up sort of pressing the right side of my face against the transparisteel wall and looking at him at a slight angle.

He looked… bored, I suppose. As expected, he looked as scruffy as ever, and was sprawled out of his bunk. It felt strange, really, watching him like that.

Did he even know I was there?

xxx

A couple of days passed. I was bored out of my mind, and already I'd had three visits from Intelligence. Same questions, different agents, and a different psychic all the time; it got irritating after the second time, honestly.

"I _told_ you already," I seethed, as the Intelligence operative took notes, her claydol hovering outside my cell, "I have no idea what you're talking about! You're asking me the same questions those two dumb fu-"

She held up a hand. "I believe you have expressed such an opinion on my colleagues. Repeatedly. Kindly keep yourself from sounding like a broken record and answer the questions."

"_You're_ the broken record, you stupid cunt!" I snapped, causing the claydol to let out a low and surprisingly colourful growl. "Oh, can it, you oversized piece of pottery. It's hardly my fault your trainer's got the brains of a dunsparce."

"_I'll have you know dunsparce are highly intelligent compared to your species_," rumbled the claydol, its eyes glowing red.

"That will be all," said the operative as she got to her feet and shut her notepad with a snap. "Thank you for your co-operation."

With that, she left my cell, the claydol moving aside to let her past. After she was gone, though, it lingered for a bit, spinning about slowly like a massive top that had been molded out of living clay.

Its eyes flashed like a ring of cameras, and it moved away from my cell, with what sounded like 'interesting' echoing faintly after it.

As my cell door slid shut, I wondered what the psychic was going on about.

xxx

In the darkness, I heard what sounded like roaring, followed by what felt like an earthquake. There was shouting and a whole bunch of other sounds that wouldn't have been out of place at a construction site.

I sat up groggily, wondering if the claydol had done something to me, before I realised that the shouting sounded real enough.

Grabbing my glasses and putting them on hurriedly, I saw that the bars between me and the detention block's main corridor had been all but mangled, along with the transparisteel that had been fixed onto them. It looked as if something had exploded in the corridor, and the guy in the cell opposite mine was peering bewilderedly through the remains of his cell's door.

Wide awake, I stepped up to the wrecked wall, and took a closer look at it. The hole was large enough for me to escape, although it was about five feet off the ground and getting through it would have probably led to the broken transparisteel slicing me open. Through the hole, I could hear numerous voices – clearly, our cells weren't the only wrecked ones, and their inhabitants were all having a good ol' chinwag. A quick look around confirmed this.

"Any idea what did this?" the guy opposite called out through the hole in his cell.

I shrugged, running a hand through my hair to smooth out the bed hair I undoubtedly had. "Beats me. And the damage isn't close to the ground, either."

He nodded slowly. "Ah. Definitely not someone tunneling into this place to stage a breakout, then."

Before I could answer, a siren started wailing, and all of the detention block's lights flared to life, nearly blinding me. I backed away from the wall, practically stumbling over my own steps as the bright afterimages flashed before my eyes.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, and I struggled to make out the sight out of the six – or was it seven? – individuals making their way towards our end of the block. As they drew closer to my cell, though, I saw that there were seven of them, and that one of them was a familiar face.

Flanked by two digimon decked out in samurai oufits and four humans, none other than Commandant Fischer stopped to look into my cell. He nodded in my direction, and one of his human aides stepped forward to unlock my cell.

"Up against the wall, hands above your head!" he barked, brandishing a stun baton. "Do it, now!"

"I'm telling you right now, I didn't do anything," I rolled my still-sore eyes, as I complied with his instructions. "And hello, Commandant."

"Knock him out," came the Commandant's reply, and the next thing I knew, I was being jabbed between my shoulder blades with what felt too much like a stun baton to be comfortable.

And that was when the stun baton was switched on, and enough electricity sent coursing through my body to make the world around me go white with pain.

When I slowly oozed my way back into consciousness, feeling like I'd been run over by a furious rhyhorn and with the inside of my mouth tasting like the splashboard of a pub toilet during a stomach flu epidemic, I saw that I had been hooked up to an intravenous drip of some sort, and that I was chained to a chair. A quick glance at the drip stand confirmed that there were indeed two bags hung there, with their plastic outflow tubes meeting at a standard-issue diverter valve.

Fuck. That meant serious interrogation.

The scratching of a pen on paper made me aware that I wasn't alone, and when I turned to look straight ahead, there he was at a typical interrogator's table. A bald, stooped man whose dense facial hair made him look as though someone had stuck a swablu onto his shoulders. He was scribbling away on what looked like a standard-issue medical file, except that the cardboard cover was orange instead of the usual green.

Oddly enough, there were two bottles of water on the table, and also a bowl of peanuts.

"So, Number Eighteen," he suddenly said, his voice shaking a little. "Do you know why you are here?"

I felt queasy. "What?"

He looked up at me, and put his pen down. Reaching across the table, he grabbed a few peanuts, and popped them into his mouth. "Do you know why they sent you here, Number Eighteen?"

Eighteen? Oh, _shit_. "No, sir, I can't say that I do."

Chewing noisily, he let out what sounded like a muffled expletive, and spat to his left. "Enter!"

The room's door opened, and a nurse, of all people, stepped into the room. A second glance revealed that she was dressed in black instead of the usual white that nurses wore, or even the fatigues used by the field medics. Her facial features were mostly concealed by a surgical mask and the long, glossy hair that framed her surprisingly angular head.

"This," said the old man, as he unscrewed the cap on one of the water bottles, "is Nurse Batsu. Top of her class in nursing school, former theatre sister at several prominent hospitals prior to the Revolution, and the same person who was the center of attention during a legal case which set the precedent for murders committed by nurses in hospitals.

"Nurse Batsu will be assisting me today in your… interview. Think of her as a fact-checker, really. Of course, you can ignore the fact that she's not entirely sane, and that the short-term memory loss she experiences thanks to her medications make her hands just a little… unsteady," he finished with obvious relish, as he gulped down water like a magikarp.

She seemed to glide past me, her black outfit blending with an oily, unnerving grace into the dimness around me. Not long after that, there came the unmistakable sound of clasps being undone, and a case of some sort being opened.

Once again, my questioner offered me a blank stare. "Where is Zachary Harding?"

"I don't know!" I said, my attention more on the homicidal nurse as she tinkered with the intravenous drip I was hooked up to. "I was locked up when he got busted out, and you can ask the guards about that! They were there the whole-"

A deep, cold sensation coursing through my body cut me off right then. It felt like ice was running in my veins, and I could feel my entire body tensing up as whatever it was they had in the drip bag made its way around my body.

"Ten seconds, approximately," said Nurse Batsu, in a voice not unlike that of a timid schoolgirl.

"Good," nodded Crazy Geezer, as he spat the remnants of yet some more peanuts across the room in my direction. "Now, I don't think you're aware of the magnitude of the problem here, young man.

"Simply put, Zachary Harding not only broke out of detention, but also managed to free a few other detainees that we were… highly keen on questioning. Since we weren't that focused on picking his mind, frankly, him putting himself in our sights like he did is highly suspect at the very least."

The chains seemed to be growing heavier by the second. Hell, the chair I was sitting on was starting to the dig into my body as though it was contracting around me. "What-"

Before I could say anything more, a blinding burst of pain took over my left shoulder. A scream made its way out of me, leaving a burning rawness in my throat.

"Grade zero sandpaper!" chirped the sadistic bitch calling herself a nurse, as she held up a piece of the abrasive material. "Coupled with the pain-amplifying drugs we've got you dosed up on, you're in for a treat, bucko!"

Once again, she brushed the sheet of sandpaper over my skin, sending my vision swimming with white-hot agony.

"Tell me where Zachary Harding is, and this will all end," tutted Crazy Geezer, as he rhythmically thumped the table's edge with the now-empty water bottle. "Nurse Batsu might not even need to use her actual tools of the trade, then."

More sandpaper on my skin, and spots flashed before my eyes. "I don't know!"

"And here I was thinking you were at least not retarded," he sighed, gesturing casually to Batsu as she continued to drag the sandpaper across my skin. "And Nurse, do you smell that?"

Only then did the wetness in my pants make sense. "The subject appears to have temporarily lost control of his bladder! The drug delivery was clearly a success, sir!"

He nodded slowly, chewing slowly on his next mouthful of peanuts as he did so. "Sandpaper seems to be ineffective. Go for the pins."

Whipping my head around in an attempt to follow the insane nurse's movements, I saw that she was holding a container with shiny contents, which could have very well been sewing pins. Slowly, she opened up the container, and withdrew several of the pin-like objects.

Comprehension dawned on me like an oncoming freight train. "Oh, hell no!"

"This is for your own good, really," muttered Batsu, as she held up the little pieces of metal to the light. "This one should be fine for starters, I think."

Swiftly and smoothly, she slid the needle into my left forearm. The pinprick, tiny as it was, felt like an Ice Shard had just gone through my entire arm. I screamed.

Before I had managed to recover from the first needle, there were two more.

And two more.

And two more.

And one more.

The world around me flared up into one gigantic wall of flame, even as my eyesight blacked out completely.

"I DON'T KNOW!" I screamed, my voice hoarse with pain and confusion. "I DON'T KNOW!"

Crazy Geezer threw the remaining bottled water he had in my face, soaking me through and hitting my head with the empty bottle. "Batsu, you know what to do."

She nodded – almost imperceptibly so – and stepped back behind me to get to her case of tools.

Not five seconds later, my right shoulder felt as though a red-hot poker had been driven through it. My mouth opened to scream, but I'd already screamed myself out.

When Nurse Batsu's girlish giggling made it through the agonizing tornado that had swept me up, I felt the bile rising in my throat.

When she drew what was unmistakably a blade of some sort across my back like a gigantic oblique mark, everything went silent. Somehow, I could _see_ my own back with the long slit running diagonally across it, blood slowly oozing out of the cut Nurse Batsu had inflicted on me. The bile in my throat decided to spew forth right then, and I lurched forward in my seat as a burning torrent of vomit surged out of my mouth and onto the table where Crazy Geezer was seated.

And then everything went dark.

xxx

"_Good_ _God! This is too much, I say! Too much!"_

"_Too late to suture! Seal them with the lasers- where's the goddamn lasers?"_

In the midst of the blurry, pain-filled fog that was all I knew since Crazy Geezer and Nurse Batsu had worked their magic on me, what felt like two cold, deliciously soothing palms worked their way down my flayed back.

Cold. Cold was good.

xxx

When I had recovered enough from the sensory overload that Nurse Batsu had subjected me to as well as the physical injuries she'd inflicted on me, the powers that be foisted a psychic onto me. As it turned out, I hadn't exactly given them the answers they wanted, or even enough answers to begin with, anyway.

"_This place is a mess!_" Armando exclaimed in disgust. "_Such a hovel-_"

Ginger's head poked out from the head. "Say what? Sounded like a bloody commie saying that me barracks were a bleedin' sty!"

Looking as if he hadn't heard Ginger, or perhaps just like he wasn't bothered by my esteemed unit leader calling him a communist, of all things, Armando slowly stepped towards the middle of the barracks, and shook his head.

"_A garbodor would be proud to live in such a dump_," he declared haughtily. "_Just the _sight_ of those dust bunnies, small as they are, is enough to raise my blood pressure._"

I let my gaze follow the accusatory finger he had pointed at Lizard's bunk – under it, to be specific – and saw… well, nothing. "Are you sure about them being there? Lizard's pretty tidy."

He let out a disdainful sniff, crossing his arms over the thicket of fur on his chest. "_My poor, visually-impaired human, can you not tell that my eyesight is perfectly fine despite my lack of sleep? I was sent here to monitor the four filth-eaters occupying this barracks, not because I can't see!_

"_Of course, it didn't help that your friend here is somehow so mentally resistant to psychic probing that the interrogators let him off the hook when he almost died during a physical interrogation._"

Balrog gave him a quick once-over, looking thoughtful as he did so. "And how long has it been since you last slept?"

"_Sixteen years, three months, fourteen days, eighteen hours, fifty-nine minutes, and twenty-seven seconds,_" he replied without a second's hesitation.

Upon noticing our stares, he shrugged. "_And counting, of course. Make that nineteen hours in T-minus eight seconds._"

Lizard peeked out from under his bunk, where he had been checking for the dust bunnies Armando claimed to have seen. "I take it you're a big fan of coffee, then."

"_Bah! Caffeine is for wussies and sodomites!_" sniffed the hypno, making a shooing gesture in his direction. "_Amphetamines, my good man, amphetamines are the key. Now smite those dust bunnies before I wring your necks. All four of you. Simultaneously._"


End file.
